


a savage garden

by zinthos



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, Developing Friendships, F/F, F/M, M/M, Prince!Prompto, Slow Build, Slow Romance, character introspection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10087691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinthos/pseuds/zinthos
Summary: “Our countries are in alliance,” she begins, “and our parents, the kings and queen, are constantly butting heads in debates and the sort. Politics. Boring stuff. But us…” She looks down for a moment, pale eyelashes casting shadows over her cheekbones. "We can be friends right?"Or:The meek shall inherit the earth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time, i made myself a promise that i would never start multichaptered stories because i never finish them. then i got this idea and it grew and didn't leave me alone until i started to write. then, i made myself a promise to not start posting until i had five chapters written and i started to get the urge to post now and i wanted and wanted until i'm here with one and a half (this one not included) written and still posting anyway.
> 
> i have a lot planned and i am hoping i see it all through because i think it can be seriously fucking great, if i just get my ass to do it. also, my favorite part, so far, is writing luna and then being like "im doing this wrong", then being like "how do i know it's wrong if i have nothing to base her off of". so. there's that. please enjoy. and please harass me if i don't update. i want this to happen but i'm flighty and i have commitment issues.

“And these are mine!”

Prince Noctis is led through the gardens of the Tenebraean royal family. A few steps behind him, Prince Prompto follows along, feigning to, once again, clean his glasses with a cloth he keeps in his shorts’ pockets.

Princess Luna leads, as these gardens belong to her family. There is a skip to her steps, a bounce to her pale blond hair and a swirling swish to her white dress. She twirls around to face them, arms spread at her side and a wide smile on her lips.

“And by mine, I truly mean they belong to me. I care for them myself!” She sounds proud, Noctis observes. He spares her a glance before turning to look at the gardens.

Most of everything in Tenebrae seems to be green. Moss and vine coat the buildings like blankets. Curl around bridges and balconies that, if Noctis wasn’t such a big baby and afraid of nightmares, he’d allow himself to pretend were aiming to reach for people passing by.

People eating plants. He wouldn’t pass it by these Tenebrae people. 

“Look!” Luna comes to a stop to a carefully fenced corner of the gardens with flowers just beginning to bloom. Flowers of the strangest, prettiest blue. “Sylleblossoms!”

“T-they’re very pretty,” Prompto murmurs, tugging at the bottom of his vest.

He’d been truly admiring the gardens but at the weight of Noctis’ stare on him, Prompto’s attention subconsciously turns to acknowledge his. As soon as their eyes meet, he quickly looks down at the ground, pink-faced and hands busied with wringing his fingers together.

Noctis blinks at the boy but says nothing more. The flowers _are_ pretty but he doesn’t mention it; he doesn’t think he needs to, not when Prompto already has and Luna’s already beaming. She probably already knows, anyway.

Personally he just wants to get out of the sun.

It’s rather warm in Tenebrae and it’s not that he doesn’t _like_ it, but it’s not that he _does_ either. He doesn’t say anything about this either, since this is Luna’s home, after all, and he’s simply a guest. His dad had been very clear about how he is to act on this trip and Noctis doesn’t want to let his dad down.

Despite this, Luna sobers up a bit. She still smiles at them, her eyes a bright blue like the sky above them. “I’m sorry,” she begins, cheeks the palest of pink like the posies behind her. “I believe I got a bit carried away… I got excited. There’s never anyone near my age around here, see. Just Ravus. And he can be such a _bore,_ sometimes.”

Prince Ravus is four years older than the princess, making him eight years older than Noctis and Prompto. He must be far more boring than Ignis, and even if he’s only ten, _he_ can get _boring_.

A bit of a grin fights its way onto Noctis’ lips at the thought.

“Would the two of you like to meet my dogs?”

“Dogs?” Prompto asks, his voice soft and low.

Luna nods her head vigorously, bangs flying up and down far faster than her headshakes. “Umbra and Pryna!” 

She gives them no chance to answer before she begins to run back in the direction they’d been walking from earlier. Noctis watches her for a second, her shoulder-length hair, swaying, the ends to the bow of her dress, tied behind her back. He turns to Prompto, observes him pat his round tummy almost thoughtfully or as if giving him time to take off so he can follow.

Shrugging a shoulder, Noctis runs.

Their footsteps echo in the atrium that leads back into Fenestala Manor. Like the rest of the manor, it too is covered in vines, braided and woven together by time. They curl down the columns holding up the domed ceiling and then interconnect with the bushes surrounding the circular architecture.

Luna calls for them to keep up from over her shoulder and Noctis privately takes it as a challenge, willing his short legs to go faster. Behind them, Prompto struggles. It’s listening to his breathing pick up and his clumsy running shifting from fast to slow to just a simple walk that gets Noctis to slow down to a jog, curiously twisting around a bit to look at him.

“My shoe,” the blond prince lies.

Noctis pauses altogether. “I’ll wait.”

Staring at him, his shoulders heaving as he tries to regain his breath, Prompto kneels and tries to fumble with the buckles of his shoes. Noctis pretends to be interested in anything else to save him any more embarrassment.

“I… I’m ready…”

They jog side by side. Inside the Manor, they dodge guards and maids and pretend to not hear their half-asked questions. It’s much like the Citadel back home, if not more old fashioned. Luna waits for them on the first landing of a grand set of stairs, where they divide into two sets leading in opposite directions.

“You two are slow,” she laughs, hands on her hips.

“Prompto had to fix his shoe,” Noctis explains, jabbing a thumb in the air, in Prompto’s direction.

They run up the stairs, down the long hall it leads to and all the while ignoring the majority of the grand doors on either sides, decorated with beautifully arched doorframes, intricately carved and painted. There are elaborate floral arrangements in vases to match all set in curious tables of iron, their legs woven together like the vines that decorate the buildings outside.

Portraits hang on the wall with one-sentence descriptions carefully placed below them and if not for the fact that he has to keep up with the princess, Noctis would stop to read them. Perhaps they’re far less sad than the story of old from Lucis.

“In here!”

Noctis enters right after her with, surprisingly, Prompto at his heels. They aren’t allowed to fully enter the room before both boys are tackled to the ground. Noctis feels his heartbeat escalate, expression twisting to confusion for a second before he feels the first wet lick on his cheek. Then the second, and third.

Suddenly, he realizes it: he’s being attacked, yes, but by a wave of affection.

“Oh _man_ ,” he laughs, opening his arms wide, and allowing himself to properly be captured. He feels a paw on his chest, the light pressure of claws. His laughter picks up when he feels the cool, wetness of a nose near his jaw and next thing he knows his assailant changes tactics: there’s suddenly nibbling on his sides.

Prompto’s in no better condition. He laughs as a white dog licks his face, his glasses thrown off and to the side. His hands blindly pet the dog as it attacks him.

Luna claps her hands in glee.

“Oh, this is so great,” she cheers. “I knew the four of you would get along well!”

“Under,” Noctis wheezes, “attack. Need…. Backup…” He snorts into another wave of laughter, feeling his stomach clench and cramp in pain but finding it impossible to stop as the dark-colored dog continues to tickle and lick him. “Okay,” he whines, practically out of breath, “ _Okay_!”

He moans and groans as the dog pulls away, panting and wagging its’ tail. Noctis places a hand on his stomach as he tries to regain his breath, watching as Prompto, too, is finally let off the hook.

“That was brutal,” Prompto breathes, sniffing and wiping at stray tears from the corner of his violet-blue eyes. Blinking, he starts to pat around the ground in search for his glasses. Noctis watches for a moment before leaning over a bit and handing them to him.

“I cannot believe all it took were my _dogs_ ,” Luna stresses. “The gardens usually leaves people speechless but of _course_ its my dogs that broke the ice with you two!”

Noctis sits up, running a hand through his messy dark hair and staring at the dogs that sit near them, still waggling their tails and eyeing him and Prompto with excitement. “I don’t understand.”

“Mother said to leave Umbra and Pryna in my chambers because this is your first visit and we don’t know if there are allergies to avoid. We don’t want any tension, that’s what she said, so I didn’t bring you guys to meet them upon your arrival and instead took you to the gardens to see my sylleblossoms.” 

“I like the dogs better,” Noctis says before he can think better of it. He blinks and then quickly tries to think of something better to add, lifting a hand up to scratch at his jaw. “I mean, the flowers are…nice… you just… can’t really play with flowers…”

Luna laughs. “It’s okay, Noctis.” She turns to Prompto and then back to him. She repeats the action two more times before she claps her hands, her smile wide but the softest it’s been since they have all arrived at the Manor. “I like this. It is much, much better.”

Noctis turns to Prompto just as Prompto turns to him. They look at each other for a moment before turning to her, clearly missing what she sees.

She comes closer to them, jumping in place for effect before dropping down into a kneel, taking care so that her dress is carefully place so it’d remain free of wrinkles.

“Our countries are in alliance,” she begins, “and our parents, the kings and queen, are constantly butting heads in debates and the sort. Politics. Boring stuff. But us…” She looks down for a moment, pale eyelashes casting shadows over her cheekbones.

Princess Lunafreya is four years older than Noctis and Prompto, making her twelve; so it’s only natural she knows at least a bit of the stuff that goes on with their parents. Noctis doesn’t even like to think about it; he finds it boring and even resents it for taking much of his dad’s time.

“We can be friends, right?” she asks, finishing where she’d left off.

Umbra and Pryna have now come to rest between them, their heads at the center of the circle they’ve made. Noctis reaches to scratch behind Umbra’s ear, grinning as the dog whines in appreciation.

He thinks about what Luna says, letting her question plant in his head, root itself so it can grow. There’s no arrogance in his quietness, in his hesitance, so much that he’s… really nervous.

Genuinely.

“I… I’ve never had any friends,” Prompto whispers, so softly if not for the quiet that’s fallen after Luna’s words, it would have gone unheard.

Noctis looks at him from under his lashes, studying him and his pink face, his pudgy cheeks and his never-ending freckles.

“I… I have Gladio and Ignis but… They’re in training to be in my Crownsguard when I take over my dad’s position so… I don’t…. Know… I…” He trails off.

He feels his chest tighten a bit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that about Ignis and Gladio. What if they _do_ consider him a friend, despite their duties? It’s just… he’s so… insecure and… and… He bites his lip.

“We won’t see each other often,” he mentions, leaning into Umbra and hiding in his fur. “But… I think… we can be friends too.”

“Nonsense!” Luna claps her hands and _beams_. “Our countries are in alliance, Noctis. We can visit _whenever_. Isn’t that right, Prompto?”

Prompto looks at them both, the round lenses of his glasses causing slight shadows over his cheeks. His carefully combed hair is slightly messy from his tussle with Pryna and there’s a paw print on his white button-down shirt. He opens and closes his mouth, seemingly unable to find his voice.

He settles to just nodding. Slowly at first before it turns as vigorous as Luna’s, so much so that his glasses fall off his face and startle the dogs and set Luna and Noctis into a series of snickers.

-

Later, when the clear sky has darkened and the moon and stars have come to brighten the shadows nightfall have summoned, Noctis yawns as he allows his dad to tuck him into his temporary bed. It’s not as soft as his own, back in the Citadel, but it’ll have to do and he’s allowed to have the balcony doors open so the light, chill air can come and keep him cool over the night. Tenebrae’s warmness is… not too up his alley.

“Will we be staying here for a while?” he asks his dad, opening his gray-blue eyes and watching him, heartbeat picking up speed in his hopes that he won’t move from where he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Hmm,” hums King Regis, his green eyes rolling skyward in an exaggerative thoughtful manner. “Perhaps. Business has already been taken care of and it’s not wise for a king to leave his country unguarded for too long, Noctis.”

Noctis listens, rolls the words in his head and gives a slow nod. “But… 

“Do you like it here?” 

“It’s… too hot,” he admits. “But… I like my new friends…”

Regis’ face smoothens out as he smiles, lifting a hand to stroke Noctis’ hair. He doesn’t say anything else after that, or maybe he does. Noct doesn’t remember because he falls asleep to his dad’s gentle touch and thoughts of playing with his friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow, i wasn't expecting anyone to get into this! i'm speechless and humbled. thank you! listen, as i start posting chapters, i'll keep adding tags, for prompto's scenes' sake. i don't think i need to add any for this chapter, but i could be wrong. drop me a line if you need something tagged, but please be polite in doing so. 
> 
> world building is hard and creating a personality for a canon character is also hard but i'm me so i'm gonna make this work, i _swear_.

Prompto has never had any friends. 

He told Luna and Noctis as much when they’d first met and he had not been lying. He’s a short, plump boy that keeps to himself more because he _has_ to than because he _wants_ to. He’s homeschooled so he doesn’t really see any other children his age and as for the children of the guards and maids, well… They don’t really want to talk to the Niflheim Prince. Too much social difference.

So Prompto keeps to himself, only half-paying attention to his studies and avoiding his father at all costs. It’s an easy way of living, if not a lonely one.

He really wishes Luna and Noct lived closer.

Since they became friends, he’s only ever seen them a handful of times and their playtime is always cut short for one thing or another. And they very rarely come to Gralea.

Prompto sighs and looks out the window of his bedroom, admiring the snowy mountains at the far distance, encasing the capital city almost protectively. It would make a nice picture, he thinks, and conveniently forgets of the postcards sold at the train station with that same exact image.

He’s bored, with nothing to do now that he’s finished his studies. Normally, he’d sneak out of the palace and wander around the streets of Gralea, buying little snacks from vendors here and there. The guards never tell his father about his time out of the palace without proper supervision and no one ever really bothers to stop him.

He’s not… all that important. At least, well, his father makes it seem that way because his father rarely remembers he has a son. The rest of the council is simply respectful because he’s still the prince. Prompto doesn’t mind. Sorta.

He _really_ wishes Luna and Noct were here. At least _they_ give him attention and it isn’t faked. Luna listens to every single word he says and Noct plays video games with him and shares food with him and…

Prompto pats at his tummy.

What if Noct doesn’t _really_ like him because he has to share his food with him? Or, or because he has to put so much effort in helping him up if he falls, or whenever they’re done playing on the floor and he wants to be nice and help him up? What if Luna hates having to be nice too, especially when she has to join in helping?

What if they don’t _really_ want to be friends with him anymore because he drags them down?

Maybe… Maybe that’s also why his dad treats him the way he does? Like he's a nuisance because of his weight. Like he's always in the way... It  _has_ to be because of that... Prompto's always had issues with the way he looks, it's just... It's never really settled until this moment, now, where he reflects that perhaps his precious friends don't feel the same way about him because of how he is.

So maybe he should lose the tummy. He should definitely eat less and exercise… But how? He can’t go train with the _guards_. They’re in an entirely different level; he’d _die_.

Running!

That’s definitely a good way to start!

Less food and running. He’ll be less fat by the time he next gets to see Luna and Noct. And they’ll definitely want to be best friends with him forever. And maybe his dad will…

Prompto presses his thin lips together and decides not to finish the thought.

There’s a knock at his door and he turns away from the window just as it opens. The woman on the other side bows and greets him with his appropriate title. “Lunch is ready,” she says, and patiently waits for him.

“Oh,” he breathes. His heart thumps and his stomach flops. “Okay.”

He slips off the chair and follows after her. Tomorrow, he tells himself, tomorrow he will begin.

 

-

 

Noctis walks down the steps of his school, book-bag gently patting against his side with every step. He notices other students turn his way, make what looks like attempts to stop him for a chat and even try to follow him as they muster up the courage.

They never do and Noctis is glad.

He’s not a very big people’s person and talking to them only exhausts him more than having to wake up at seven in the morning five days a week. He shoves his hands into his shorts and meets Ignis at the sidewalk.

“Let’s get outta here,” he drawls, stifling a yawn. “I’m feeling like I need a nap.”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your friends?” Ignis asks.

Noctis has to blink at this, looking up at him for a second before turning to the school’s front yard. All students are mingling, waiting to be picked up. There are a few that he recognizes from his class and they’re all looking his way. Wordlessly, Noctis turns away and leads both Ignis and himself on their long walk back to the Citadel.

“They’re not my friends,” he finally mutters. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Noct, I do believe it’d do _wonders_ to your development if you managed to find some _friends_ ,” Ignis stresses, adjusting the straps to his own backpack as he tries to keep up with Noctis’ strides.

Noct snorts, looking up at him from under his messy forelocks. “I have friends. There’s Prompto and Luna.”

Ignis rolls his green eyes, sighing as he slows down at the satisfaction of finally walking side by side with him. Really, Noctis may only just have turned nine but he acts like a preteen just entering his rebellious era. It’s _exhausting_.

“Yes,” he agrees, “The Prince and Princess _are_ very dear to you, I _know._  But they aren’t really ever here, now, are they?”

Noct sneers at that, as if the reminder makes it real and the lack of bringing it up seems to magically allow Prompto and Luna the ability to warp to Lucis.

“Then, I have you and Gladio. And Iris. I just.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Iggy, I don’t really want to be friends with those people. They don’t even call me by my name. They just call me ‘Prince’.”

At this, Ignis sighs and drops the subject.

They walk in a comfortable silence, blending in with the passerby and admiring the silver skyscrapers and sleek cars passing by. When Noctis started school, it’d been arranged to have someone pick him up; maybe it was Nyx, he doesn’t remember. But Noct had waved the idea off and said he could just walk home with Ignis, since they’re both let out at the same time.

Walking sounds like a lot of work but he likes the sightseeing and there are days in which he manages to convince Ignis to let him play in the arcade for at _least_ ten minutes. He thinks he’ll bring Prompto to the arcade next time he and his father come for some meeting or other. Luna can come, but he doesn’t think she likes video games much.

He grins at the idea of both he and Prompto changing that and _jumps_ when Ignis places a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Noct,” he says. “If we hurry, I can bake you a quick snack.”

Noct’s eyes brighten. “Yeah? Like the tarts from last time?” 

“Sure… Or something better.” Ignis shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows?”

“Well what’re we waiting for?” He begins to pick up his speed, zig-zagging through people that didn’t seem to even notice him enough to get out of his way.

“Then, we can do homework!”

Noctis groans. He’s been _had_.

 

-

 

Evening looks different in Gralea and Prompto sits on the edge of his bed to watch as the pale blue of the sky turns into a violet-blue very much similar to his eyes.

From where his room is located, the streetlights of the villages and towers do little to disrupt the twinkles of the stars and he stares at them, transfixed and mildly enamored at how pretty they look. This would also make a nice picture, one that he knows is not in the back of any postcard and one that he could have for himself.

He swallows, shifting in his seat but not really shifting at all. It’s been like that since he returned from lunch, since he skipped dinner and smiled weakly as one of the maids came to drop of his usual glass of water for the night.

It’s just that sometimes… Sometimes it just _gets_ to him. Whatever it is, the feeling that nestles in his chest even now, clawing when he breathes like there isn’t enough space for it. It makes him feel ugly and vulnerable and small despite being quite big.

These are the times when he starts missing Noct and Luna the most. Because at least they help, for all their obliviousness, stuff the nameless feeling away for later. Stuff it away so far back, he even forgets enough to think it’s never really there.

Until it comes back.

Like now.

Prompto sighs and looks around his room. He’s not… There’s nothing that he’s missing, that he’s been denied. There’s just nothing that he _wants_ here. His games and toys, his fancy dress clothes and even fancy casual clothes. Everything is nice. It’s just… Prompto smacks both his cheeks and crawls up his generously big bed.

Today is just not a good day. And maybe he’s just nine years old but he has a lot of not-good days and he just… Has to get used to them. Muscle through. That’s a thing that’s done by everyone, right?

Prompto closes his eyes and falls asleep, anxious for the alarm he’s set up to wake him an hour before the sun is meant to rise.

And wake him it does.

He blearily looks around his room, still dark from the lack of sunlight. Prompto groans and contemplates merely going back to sleep but his tummy jiggles as he shifts and he pauses, disgusted with himself for a fraction of a second. He clenches his eyes shut, still stinging with sleepiness but also hot, angry tears. 

If he’s… If he’s small enough then his friends will stay and his dad will _like_ him and—

He dresses in the oldest of his clothes he can find and leaves his room, quietly walking down halls and stairs until he’s out in the courtyard. Guards are stationed at the grand doors, much as always but they don’t say anything to him.

Not verbally, at least. Prompto feels the heaviness of their stares on the back of his messy blond head. He contemplates ignoring them but, something inside him, makes him slowly turn his head. He feels his cheeks grow hot, eyes staring at the ground before he looks at them and their prim, white uniforms.

“Going…” he mumbles, “for a run…”

The guards don’t respond, but they give curt nods and questioning looks that they fail to hide. Prompto leaves before he can regret this any further, walking as far away from the palace as possible before stopping and accessing how far he’ll go. A lap around the courtyard would be a good start, he thinks.

His heart rams into his chest and echoes in his ears as he begins. He’s not even running, so much as a combination between power-walking and jogging but he’s already breathing fast and hard. He tricks his mind into believing he’ll stop after each step he takes so he can continue, concentrating on the tickles the dribbles of sweat cause down the side of his face.

Prompto doubles over when he finally pauses, greedily sucking in air as he wills his breathing to even out and tries to calm the fast beating of his heart. How far did he go, he wonders, and he’s almost excited to find out.

He turns around, lips parted as he breathes. His expression twists with anguish as he realizes he hasn’t even made it halfway from where he’d started.

A tugging feeling blooms in his chest and he’s suddenly so very tired. But it’s not the sleepy tired. Just… _tired_. Prompto slumps his shoulders and turns away from his goal.

The violet-blue sky begins to clear as the sun begins to rise. Prompto thinks he’ll have extra servings of breakfast. He’ll start fresh tomorrow.

 

-

 

Lunafreya hums as she kneels at the edge of her garden of sylleblossoms, picking out the weeds and then lovingly patting at the dirt so it's all smooth again. She cups the petals and inspects them, admires their rare shade of blue and smiles.

She does this for a good portion of her day, moving from corner to corner, side to side and then carefully finding a way into the center. Umbra and Pryna find a nice shady spot to rest, cuddled up, a head over another as they doze off together in their lame attempt to keep her company.

They look up when Ravus appears, though, able to hear his footsteps no matter how soft they are on the moss and grassy cobblestone pathways. Luna’s watering her flowers at this point, eyeing the rest of the garden and devising a plan of action in which way to begin the rest of her gardening.

“Sister,” Ravus drawls, hands tucked in his slacks, mismatched eyes watching her movements. “I would have thought you were off training with your Trident. Instead I find you here?”

Luna hums in reply, turning to give her brother a half smile as she finishes her task. “I decided to leave training for another day.”

“Is that so.”

It’s a murmur of three words but it’s the judgment that makes her roll her eyes. Maybe it isn’t intentional at all or… or maybe she’s _overreacting_ but really, Ravus can be… Can be such an… what is it that Noctis would say… _ass_.

She and Ravus get along fine by normal sibling standards. Luna thinks that it’s possibly the fact that he’s a teenager now and she’s now thirteen and she _knows_ she can be a bit _moody_ sometimes but he’s just so _ugh_.

“I don’t see a reason to train so ardently if there isn’t any sinister threat in the horizon, brother, _please_. I handle the Trident quite well already!”

Ravus turns his attention back to her rather than the flowers close to his shoulder. It’s warm out, much as it always is in Tenebrae, but there is also a breeze that ruffles his white-blond hair. He lifts a hand up and runs his fingers in a sad attempt to comb the strands back again.

“What are you so worked up about, I didn’t say anything?” he questions and he’s almost snickering. Luna stares at him for a moment, deciding if the amusement in his expression is sarcastic or genuine. “If you feel you’re strong enough to wield the Trident, then I’m sure you are.”

“You’re mocking me?”

“No?”

“Ravus, do you not have one of the young maids to chase after?” she sneers, cheeks pink. Really, she’s never so used to being so…. _Mean_. “Or did you get rejected and decided to come dump your woe on _me_ , instead?”

The look on her brother’s face is exactly the one she’s aiming for and she smiles as he glares. “I’ll tell Mother about you skipping your training.”

“Of course you will,” she snips.

She watches him go and it’s not until he’s far enough that she sighs long enough to let her shoulders slump and turn her attention to Umbra and Pryna. They’re staring at her, heads resting on the ground, in between their paws.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I know I was _very_ mean for no reason.” She pouts and turns back to the flowers, sparing the Manor glances from over her shoulder every few minutes. “Oh… Perhaps I’ll apologize…”

 

-

 

“Oof!”

Noct’s wooden sword drops and skids across the training room’s ground. He stares at it, his backside still throbbing from the harsh landing.

He turns his attention to Gladiolus and glares. “Do you have to be so _rough_? I’m tiny as hell next to you. You’re a _giant_.”

Gladio snorts, resting his sword against his shoulder and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He’s not that much taller than Ignis but he’s wider, bulkier even and he’s only _twelve_. Noctis doesn’t even understand how that’s possible; maybe it’s the sweater.

“I didn’t know you were full of excuses,” Gladio teases, his grin crooked. “I get that you suck, but at least suck with some dignity.”

Noctis huffs and stands up, ignoring the ache in his back as he moves to grab his sword. How even _dare_ he say he sucks? He shifts his grip on the sword’s handle and runs towards him, teeth bared in a sneer.

“Oof!”

Gladio chokes a little as he tries to swallow his laugh, dropping down into a squat, a hand over his mouth. “Oh man,” he wheezes, “you shoulda seen yourself. You almost looked scary if you weren’t too busy looking funny!”

Noct stares at him for a second, his chest heaving with anger and embarrassment. He jumps to his feet and kicks his sword in Gladio’s direction before stomping towards the doors. “I’m leaving!”

“Hey!” Gladio’s standing up now. “Training’s not over yet!”

“Yep, it is!”

He stalks down the halls and makes his way to his bedroom all the way across the Citadel. He ignores anyone that turns any sort of attention his way and doesn’t let any kind of conversation start. He's not in the mood for it.

The nerve!

As if he wants to train anyway. Or okay, it’s pretty cool to think that he can summon his weapons from the ether, like his dad. It’s… training to get his strength to that level that’s _annoying_.

Arriving into his room, Noct is quick to drop onto his bed, face first. He’s sweaty from the workouts _before_ sword training and he supposes he should shower soon but… _ugh_.

He’s just about to doze off when the door to his room is opened. He has half the mind to lift his head up and start a rant aimed over his shoulder because he just _knows_ it’s Gladio here to chew his head off for leaving training. But he’s also just too sleepy to even bother so he pretends he’s already asleep, which is already half true.

“Noctis?”

It’s his father.

“Dad?” Noctis rolls over until he’s not just facing his dad but also close enough to have his knee press to the side of his thigh. “Is something wrong?”

Regis chuckles and shakes his head. “No, but I have received news.”

“News?”

He nods, green eyes closed and lips in a soft smile. “Once I got off the phone I had to come and tell you myself.”

Noctis sits up and searches his dad’s expression for a clue. But his dad’s too good at hiding everything behind an impassive expression. He’s got to be the king for a good reason, huh? Noct nudges at his arm. “Well, c’mon!”

Regis laughs and waves his son’s impatient hands away. “I just got off the phone with King Verstael. We’ve arranged a meeting to update a treaty that is long overdue.”

Noctis’ eyes grow wide, subconsciously leaning forward.

“I did mention it’d be a great idea to bring the young prince along, considering there will be no classes that week.”

“Prompto’s coming?” Noctis’ smile is wide and crooked as it manages to make his eyes glisten. “That’s so great!”

He can take him to the arcade and they can spend _hours_ there and Ignis can’t say a single thing because there won’t be any classes and so there won’t be any homework. They can also play video games here— _oh_ and he can take him to his training lessons so he can watch.

Or… maybe not. He doesn’t think it’d be cool if Prompto saw him get his ass kicked by Gladio in less than five minutes.

He turns back to his dad. “What about Luna?”

“Ah, Tenebrae and Lucis seem to be in humble peace for now and so there is no real need to have Sylva come all the way here. Perhaps for the end of the year?”

Noctis sobers up a little bit and nods. ”Yeah, I guess.”

 

-

 

A week after his initiative to diet and work out, Prompto has found a good pace to work with and he feels like he’s making good progress. Small, tiny, and perhaps insignificant, the dark voice in the back of his head tells him. But it’s progress nonetheless.

The sun is beginning to rise and brighten up Gralea as Prompto is halfway through his second and last lap around the courtyard. His speed is slow and measured and even despite this, because he’s already finished an entire lap, he’s sweating and breathing hard.

His cheeks are burning and he has to concentrate to keep his mouth closed. He’s heard the guards say that breathing through the mouth, while running, actually causes side pains and slows one down.

By the time he finishes the last lap, the sky is clear and the air is cool against his sweaty face. Prompto stands in place, fighting the urge to collapse onto the ground in front of the guards posted by the grand doors of the palace. He sucks in air as quietly and greedily as possible, listening to the way his heartbeat vibrates against his chest and his pulse echoes in his head.

“Well done, Your Highness,” a guard mutters as Prompto walks up the steps and Prompto turns his violet-blue eyes towards him, lips parted and heartbeat escalating for an entirely different reason.

The other guards dip their heads in curt nods of agreements.

Do they… Do they _watch_ him?

“T-thank you…” Prompto tilts his head down and enters the palace, his face burning so much so, he feels the sweat already beginning to dry up.

“Prince Prompto?”

He turns around as he makes his way for the grand hall leading to the grand stairs, to his bedroom. One of the head maids stands at the foyer, her hands clasped and her brown eyes on him. She bows when she notices his attention on her. “Your father, the King, wishes to see you.”

“M-my… my dad?” Prompto feels his hands begin to shake. His father never wants to see him. He looks down at his dirty, damp clothes. “I can’t go see him like this…” He looks up at her in panic.

She sees something in him that makes her take pity in him. Or perhaps it’s because he is the prince. Or perhaps he has always had that—attention—and he has just simply never realized it, never taken notice of it because it’s not coming from the one person he wants it from the most.

“Quickly,” she says, “run up and shower. I will tell him you were in the bathroom when I arrived in your chambers.”

Prompto looks at her.

She flicks a wrist at him. “ _Go_.”

Prompto nods his head and runs down the halls and up the stairs.

When he does arrive to meet with his father, his heart stutters in his chest, nerves causing his hands to shake, his knees to wobble. He bows as he enters the room, biting at the inside of his cheek at the realization that he’s made the King wait.

They’re at the dining room, with breakfast already at the table.

He slips into his seat and steals a glance at his father from over the lenses of his glasses. Prompto’s heard the Niflheim King and Prince don’t really look alike, but they have the same colored eyes; that blue with the distinctive violet undertone. 

Verstael’s freckles hide under a tan darker than Prompto’s and the gray beard that frames his round face makes him look older than he actually is, accentuates the aggressiveness that he hides behind his thin smiles.

“Good morning, father,” Prompto murmurs.

“Prompto,” he greets back.

It is quiet and Prompto allows the kitchen maids to serve him a breakfast that he more than likely will not finish. He watches the massive servings of eggs, the ham, the fruits and feels his stomach churn. Normally Prompto eats breakfast alone and since his success in getting into his diet, he eats none of this.

“Your studies.”

It isn’t a question. Prompto pretends it is.

“They’re well,” he answers. “My lessons begin an hour after breakfast.”

Verstael dips his head in a nod. It grows quiet again. If there is a difference in Prompto’s appearance, perhaps a bit less chubby cheeks—something, anything—his father does not mention it. Or he doesn’t notice.

Maybe… there isn’t one, anyway. It’s only been a week, after all.

“We will be traveling to Lucis soon,” Verstael says, finally looking up and turning his attention to Prompto. “You and I. King Regis mentioned it’d be a… a good idea to bring you along. Why that is, I don’t know.”

Prompto stares at his father for a moment before he lowers his head and gives a nod. His father doesn’t say another word his way and Prompto remains quiet and composed until he leaves. When he’s alone, in the company of his half-touched breakfast and the scraps of his father’s, he lets his giddiness bubble up his throat and out his mouth in a fit of snickers.

He gets to see Noct.

 

-

 

Luna prefers meditating over her training with the Trident.

She _loves_ the Trident and loves that it’s her inheritance despite her being the youngest between herself and Ravus. The Trident is an heirloom that’s been in her family for as long as she can remember and far longer than any piece of written history can date back to. She feels… a sense of connection and adoration towards it and she _does_ love training with it! She feels empowered in ways that she can’t feel with anything else.

It’s just that to train with it, means she must attack those assigned to train with her and she just… feels _awful_ about that. For her first lesson with the Trident and after the first person she’d attacked, she’d _cried_. Then, she’d told Ravus about how she felt, and of course he’d told her she was being silly.

Not the exact word he used but. Well. She doesn’t need another reason to get unnecessarily angry with him again. 

Point of the matter is that Luna loves to meditate. She loves the warm hum of the healing magic that resides in the very center of her, like a cauldron, she likes to imagine. It boils, bubbles, hums to life as she relaxes her mind, slackens her nerves so it can all take over.

She feels she can do anything, like this, sitting at the center of the training room, her legs crossed and her big toes subconsciously wiggling. She feels she can save anyone, anything. Everyone.

Luna sighs as she lifts her arms up, palms cupped. She feels the magic warm her fingertips as she effortlessly summons it, holds it in place. 

That’s the training. To heal, she must summon the magic within her and keep it in place for as long as possible. She can’t hold it for long, as she is now, a skinny little thirteen year old. But she hopes that… in the future she can hold it for as long as she needs to.

She gasps, softly, opening her eyes as the magic crackles and breaks into white shards that shatter and disappear before they reach the ground.

She sits there for a moment, breathing hard through her nose and watching the faint way her fingers shake. Luna inhales sharply and shifts in her seat, settling down and closing her pale blue eyes.

One more time, then.

 

-

 

When Prompto and Noctis see each other again, Noctis is returning to his room after a long training session with Gladio. Prompto is sitting at the foot of Noct’s bed, swinging his legs, hands on his lap, eyes observing the bedroom with curiosity.

Noctis pauses, hand still around the knob of his door. As he stands there, he feels the ache of his body pulse and he really _does_ want to take a nap but it’s _Prompto_ and he hasn’t seen him in so _long_. His lips stretch into a wide, crooked grin as he throws the door closed behind him just as Prompto jumps off the bed.

“You’re here!”

“Noct!”

They fling themselves towards one another and it’s the dampness of Noct’s clothes that causes them both to pull away, noses wrinkled.

“I just finished training,” Noctis admits. “And I got my ass handed to me.”

Prompto smiles, shaking his head. He likes that about Noctis; he kind of just says whatever is on his mind. If he has doubts or insecurities, like he does, he doesn’t seem to show it. And he likes _that_ more. He wishes he could do that. Prompto’s just good at getting all tongue-tied and having his friend give him weird looks.

“I seriously hope you aren’t expecting me to take you anywhere,” Noctis begins as he takes his shirt off. “Because I have, like, three new video games for us to play and we have just one week to play them.”

Prompto turns away when Noctis unbuttons his sweaty shorts and shoves them down his legs. He’s staying in Lucis for a week with his father; he doesn’t really know how politics works and he doesn’t really know what exactly it is his father is here to discuss with Noctis’ father, but he supposes it’s to last the entire week.

“As long as I get bathroom breaks,” he finally mentions.

Noctis is looking at him funny when Prompto turns back to him. His dark hair is wild and falling over his gray-blue eyes, nose wrinkled and lips twisted in a funny smile directed right at him. 

“What?” Prompto asks, self-consciously.

“S’just that you’d never ask for bathroom breaks,” Noct says with a shrug. “You’d ask for snack breaks. But whatever. Of course we’re gonna get breaks. I need my naps, Prompto. _Duh_.”

They’re both laughing, but Prompto’s lost in the heat on his cheeks. He didn’t _say_ it but Noct’s really noticed a difference in him, hasn’t he?


	3. Chapter 3

“Really you two,” Luna starts and, from where Noctis is sitting, that _definitely_ sounds like a whine. “Is it _really_ necessary to play video games for _three hours_ now?”

Noctis and Prompto both turn to face each other and share a look before returning their attention to the screen. They’ve learned that Luna’s gotten a bit _moody_ and since her arrival a few days ago, they’ve also learned to wait for a bit for it to simmer down before they engage.

They’ve _also_ learned that she feels _really_ terrible after she snaps for no reason whatsoever and then goes over the top in trying to make it up to them, which also makes them kind of uncomfortable. 

There’s no actual reason for the Queen of Tenebrae and the King of Niflheim to be visiting Lucis this time around, so much as so to keep the friendly relationship strong. For their children, it doesn’t really matter since it allows them the chance to spend time together.

“Come here, Luna,” Noctis says after he’s estimated it to be the right time to talk to her. “If you want, we can teach you to play.”

“Now, why would I want to learn to play that?” she asks, sniffing. She has her arms crossed and chin tilted back in the air.

Noctis and Prompto both turn to face each other and share another look before returning their attention to the screen.

“So… you can play with us?” Prompto adds, letting it end as a question.

“Yeah,” Noct adds. “I have more controllers. Sometimes, Gladio and Ignis play with us. So you can play with us too…”

It grows quiet for a moment and Noctis is just about to assume Luna’s brushed the offer aside when she reluctantly plops down in between him and Prompto. It’s way passed noon now and while both princes haven’t even thought about a shower, she’s already well dressed and her hair doesn’t happen to resemble a bird’s nest, unlike Noct’s.

“Okay,” he begins, pausing the current game as he goes to rummage through the chest dedicated specifically to all his gaming equipment. He brings out a controller, hooks it to the system and passes it to her. “You move with the analog stick, jump with the x button, hit with the circle and block with the square.”

“Um…” Luna looks down at the controller, brow furrowed as she studies the buttons and tries to think about what Noctis instructs. “What about these here?”

“No, those don’t matter. It’s to navigate through options on story mode.”

“Um?”

“When playing by yourself. Story mode. This is multiplayer, because there’s three of us.”

Luna nods slowly and points again. “And this one?”

“Triangle’s for group power up. It’ll only work if all three of our power bars are full.”

“I see…” She looks up and blows her forelocks away from her face. “This seems like a lot of work just to… To… What are we _doing_?”

“Conquering worlds, getting magic,” Prompto tallies on his fingers. “Defeating bosses.”

Noctis snickers at Luna’s bewildered expression. He leans back in his seat and returns to the title page, goes through the appropriate changes so that there are three characters on screen now.

It takes her a while and she gets annoyed at least three times before Luna gets the hang of it and begins to turn into an archer to soon rival Ignis’ avatar.

They stay like that well into dinnertime.

 

-

 

The fact that he is away on vacation in Lucis does not mean Prompto will slack off on his workouts. He always makes sure to pack his exercising clothes, tucked under all his nice, pristine princely clothing and away from view. His sneakers aren’t easy to hide but they aren’t questioned at all.

Prompto is a prince, sure, but he is also a boy and boys like to play.

Today, he makes his way down the shadowed halls of the Citadel, dressed for his morning runs and hoping he won’t see anyone awake. Not the royals, not Ignis or Gladio and _definitely_ not his father.

The guards and the Glaives that roam the halls, blending in with the shadows, say not a word to him, though they do pause and send questioning looks his way. Prompto pretends not to see them and pretends he does not exist. It’s really easy and he has had much practice.

It’s when he’s near the beautiful front doors of the Citadel that he hears someone call out to him. “Prince,” he hears at first. “Your Highness,” he hears after.

It is a low, firm voice. No room for cooing, for affection no matter how fake. Prompto pauses from his steps and turns around, watching a man dressed in black approach him, his pale blue eyes on him, his expression grim.

For a moment he expects terrible news, but he soon realizes this is merely how this man seems to carry himself. Stiff and beyond proper. Eyes studying and able to see right through him if needed to, perhaps even if he does not want to.

“U-uh…” He gulps. Bows. Forgets _he_ is the one of higher rank. “Good morning…”

The man stares at him, bends forward in a half-bow. His eyes are on him, the palest of blue Prompto’s ever seen—even paler than Luna’s!

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he says, his voice low. “It’s before sunrise. Where are you off to?" 

Prompto’s eyes grow wide. “O-oh! I… I was going to go outside for a bit a-and watch… watch the sunrise…” 

The man’s eyes size him up, drinking Prompto’s appearance from the tip of his dirty sneakers to the top of his messy blond hair. Prompto feels his cheeks grow warm and wonders what he sees; does he still look too fat? Does he look hopeless? Does his shirt still stick up so the bottom of his tummy sticks out?

He lifts his hands up to adjust his glasses so the man won’t notice how they shake, but Prompto bets he’s already caught that, too. He wants to explain it’s not because he’s _nervous_ or anything, it’s just a thing that _happens_ when he’s anxious. And right now he’s starting to get _really_ anxious. And maybe only a _little_ nervous.

“Hm,” he hums, breaking Prompto out of his sticky thoughts. “It’s against protocol to allow you out alone at this hour. But I suppose it won’t hurt. Some of the Glaives are out, anyway.” 

He gives a brief bow again before leaving, his shoulders squared and his back straight. Prompto watches him disappear through a shadowed hall, awe in his eyes at the confidence and power that oozes off of him in waves.

“The Marshal likes you, Highness,” a Glaive comments as he passes by, a grin on his lips. “I’ve never seen him be so kind to Prince Noctis the way he was with you.”

Prompto just thinks everyone in Lucis is so kind, he wishes he could bask in it forever.

He scurries out the Citadel before any other glaive or Marshal can stop him again. His heart thrums in his chest, growing faster as he quickens his steps going down the marble stairs and onto the solid, concrete ground. 

A good warm-up, he thinks, turning in a full circle and admiring the sleeping city. She glimmers, the city. Skyscrapers built of sleek silver and steel, windows looking black without any lights on.

Insomnia isn’t like Gralea, despite his country being as advanced in technology as Lucis. Luna’s from Tenebrae and they’re still far behind, choosing to remain in the style of old. It explains a lot about her upbringing and how it’s different from his and Noct’s. She doesn’t even _cuss_ and the first time she repeated a word one of them let slip in front of her was…

Prompto’s lips twitch upwards at the memory.

He looks around again, feeling adrenaline at standing outside, here, in Insomnia, just before the sun rises. It feels… daring. He almost wants to pretend it’s a show of respect and confidence in his skills except Prompto doesn’t receive training the way Noct does. Even _Luna_ trains with a special, cool weapon of her own.

Prompto doesn’t even have anything like that.

“Augh,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut and concentrating in the feeling of his glasses slipping down his nose. Now isn’t the time for these feelings!

Now is time for running.

Just him, this empty road and the burn.

He counts to three in his head before he sets off, slow, as he trained himself to do. A slow, almost lazy jog to further warm up his legs, his muscles. Then he speeds up a bit, a steady run that he gradually increases the speed to until he’s suddenly feeling incredibly warm, sweat accumulating in his brow, dribbling down the side of his face, pooling at his chest and dampening his shirt.

The sky has grown lighter, clearer when he stops, hopping and jogging in place to keep the heat in his leg muscles. Prompto looks, as he tries to breathe, as the city starts to wake up.

The first car that passes by is a soft blue, a man driving with one hand on the steering wheel, the other bringing a cup with a lid to his lips. Across the street, a woman walks her two dogs and she quirks her lips into a smile when she turns to him.

Prompto ducks his head, pushes himself forward as he begins his run back to the Citadel.

There’s another person on a morning run, wearing shorts and a loose shirt. It’s a man, sweaty, tired looking but still filled with resilience and energy. He turns his eyes to him, his expression twisting to one like understanding, lips splitting into a wide grin. He gives him a thumbs up. 

“Good mornin’!” he says as he passes by.

Prompto stumbles a bit and busies himself in catching his footing, unable to reply. He turns around to watch the man, but he’s already gone. Tomorrow, he thinks, resuming his run. He’ll say good morning back tomorrow!

 

-

 

Noctis has one hundred percent prohibited them to come sit through one of his training sessions with Gladio. Truly, Lunafreya doesn’t _understand_ the absurdity.

Sometimes, those _she_ trains with best _her_! It’s in the whole process of learning and while none of her trainers wield a weapon even close to her Trident, they are by far more experienced in battle than she.

Luna pouts as she and Prompto stroll through the courtyard, waiting for Noctis’ lessons to be over so they can all head to dinner together. She’s already spent time with her mother, due to travel back to Tenebrae in two days; she and Ravus will stay a bit longer, much to her brother’s annoyance. But it’s only until Noctis must return to school and Prompto to his country for his own life to return to normal after the end of the year Holidays leave for another year.

Then, it’s to return to her gardens, to her meditation, her training and the sun.

Luna sighs as she strolls, short hair tickling the curve of her neck with the soft breeze. The ground is a bit wet from the earlier, spontaneous rain, the stone ground still slippery under their feet.

“Do you miss being home?” Prompto asks, his hands clasped in front of him, hair neatly brushed and glasses slipping down his nose.

His cheeks are less pudgy and much slimmer. It’s something Luna’s noticed since they gathered together in the Citadel at the end of last year; she doesn’t comment on it, thinking that, perhaps it’s something Prompto will want to talk about when he’s ready.

“Sometimes,” she admits, instead. “I miss my gardens.” At this, she laughs when he turns to look at her, an incredulous look on his soft face. “I know! It’s silly… But flowers don’t grow the way they do in Tenebrae.”

“Like your sylleblossoms?” 

“ _Precisely_!” She laughs again, linking their arms together as they walk. “What about you? Do you miss Gralea?”

Luna turns just in time to watch the end of the expression on Prompto’s face, just before he shoves it away behind a mask. It leaves a bitter taste in the back of her throat, a worry and a fierce protectiveness that translates in the way she squeezes his arm closer to her.

“I like it here,” he replies. It’s not an answer to her question. “O-or in Tenebrae. I… Like to be with you and Noct.” 

“I like to be with you two as well. And I’m sure Noct loves our company, too.” She inches closer. “What’s Gralea like, Prompto? The times Mother and King Regis have traveled to Niflheim have been times I, and I’m sure Noctis, didn’t get the chance to go. Is it pretty?”

“Gralea?” Prompto blinks. “It’s a lot like Insomnia.” He hums a bit, as if pensive with his choice of words. “Maybe with older buildings. There’s small villages surrounding the city; really small with food stands and stands for trinkets and vegetables at prices much cheaper than the city, at least from what I hear the maids talk about. My favorite parts are the snowy mountains in the distance—I bet you’ve seen or heard about them. They’re on all postcards from Niflheim.”

“I have not,” Luna confesses, a smile in her voice. “Tell me more.” She likes this side of Prompto. The soft passion in his voice as he talks about what he probably can easily envision behind his eyelids. It’s calm, like the tranquil, glowing embers of a dying fire. Quiet, like Prompto is.

“The sky… It’s my favorite part. It _shines_ ,” he tells her. “At night, the stars are so bright. The sky doesn’t get dark like here o-or in Tenebrae. Not pitch dark. It stays light enough. Kinda like the sun’s just finished setting. Dark enough so you can see the stars shine. It’s so pretty.”

“Do you miss it?”

The answer comes fast. Without hesitation, without thought. From the heart. “No.” There’s a shudder in the inhale he takes, lips parted. His eyes are downcast, dirty-blond eyelashes pressed against the lenses of his glasses. “Gralea… Going home… I-it just means going back to being alone and being neglected by my father.”

Lunafreya’s brow furrows, lips parted to speak but then they’re both being called and when they turn to address their caller, they watch Noctis waving an arm at them, hair a complete stringy mess, pressed to his face with sweat.

“I’m done,” he yells, a water bottle at hand. Ignis and Gladio peek their heads from either side of the doors. “Hurry up—I convinced my dad to let us go out for _burgers_."

Prompto makes a noise from the back of his throat and Luna turns her eyes to him.

“Guys?” Noctis asks and Luna gives Prompto’s arm another squeeze.

“We’re coming!” She begins to lead them both, her arm still linked to Prompto’s.

“Luna?” he asks, voice lower than normal. “C-can we… what we talked about. Can it just be between you and me?”

Luna turns to him, her expression soft. Deep within her, she knows she’s been a moody mess, what with her adapting to the changes her body has been going through, but even in her grossest of mood swings she would rather bite her tongue off than allow that _awful_ , lonely expression back on Prompto’s face. 

“Of course,” she whispers, unlinking their arms and taking his hand in hers. They run the rest of the way inside, clumsy and messy in their attempts to catch up to the others.

Luna gasps when she bumps into a Glaive dressed in his dark clothes of frock coats and boots. She looks up at the man, an apology at the tip of her tongue.

He’s no older than Ravus—perhaps a year, if she’s generous in her estimate. He looks at her with unreadable blue eyes. He observes her for a moment before he dips his head, bends his body into a bow.

“Apologies, Princess,” he murmurs, voice low.

Lunafreya opens her mouth again, her eyes locked with his. But he walks away before she can utter a single word, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

 

-

 

Noctis leans back against the booth he, Prompto and Luna fill. He has a hand pressed against his flat stomach, thoroughly satisfied with his empty plate and neglected veggies, quickly picked out of his burger upon arrival.

“That hit the spot,” he drawls, eyes closed, head cocked back and messy hair falling back to rest around him like a stringy crown. “Could crash right here.”

“Preferably _not_ ,” Ignis is quick to snip.

Noct cracks an eye open at this, spares him a lazy smile before he drops his head on Prompto’s shoulder. Like this, without the distraction of movement, without the distraction of conversation, he can feel the throbbing ache of his muscles. The soreness they’re absorbing. He curls his thin fingers, stretches his thumb over each one and presses down until he can hear a satisfying crack that leaves the joints happy and empty.

“That wasn’t even a big workout,” Gladio comments, still mindlessly picking at his fries. He leans his chin on his unoccupied hand. “You’ve been slacking off. I _told_ you to do some drills in the mornin’.”

“Hey,” Noct sneers, swallows another yawn, “how about, I don’t know, _shut up_?”

Under the table, Luna pinches his thigh and Noct swallows the yelp, too. He lifts his head up from Prompto’s shoulder and turns to her, his eyes wide and accusing. She’s batting her eyelashes, short hair tucked behind her ears. She’s innocently drinking at her shake, chin supported by both hands and she slowly turns to look at him, pale blue eyes wide.

Noct knows she’s the least innocent and she’s _evil_ and _angry_ for _no reason_ and he doesn’t _understand_. He’s just about to give her his meanest look ever but he’s interrupted when she downright looks away and turns back to Ignis and Gladio, the ones closest to her age, since, she’s _technically_ the eldest in the group of five. 

“Has King Regis recruited new Glaives?” she questions, head tilted.

Noctis turns to his two friends, arms crossed in front of his chest. She could have asked _him_ , considering he’s the _prince_. What makes her think _he_ doesn’t know? O-of course, he actually doesn’t. He doesn’t really know much about the things his father does for the good of Insomnia and the rest of the country, or the treaties that keep their country, Luna’s country and Prompto’s country in friendly terms.

He figures it's because he’s still a kid and his dad won’t start including him in all this until he’s older. Noct’s actually glad. It all sounds _boring_ and he doesn’t really care. 

Gladio scratches at his chin. His dad is Noctis’ dad’s closest friend, his Shield—sworn protector. He sees to a lot that has to do with their defense. Gladio would probably know a lot, if only in snippets, when it comes to things like Luna’s questions.

“From Galahd. But that was a long while back.”

“Mm,” Ignis nods. “An invasion. Though I did not manage to hear who the invaders were. His Majesty has opened his doors to many refugees. Recently, those that have shown aptitude for magic have been chosen to serve in the Kingsglaive.”

Lunafreya looks fascinated, still sipping at her shake, chin still tucked in between both her palms. Noctis shifts and turns to Prompto who’s been awfully quiet. His plate’s half-full, burger half-eaten and fries in the same state.

He elbows him a bit, leans closer. “Need some help?” he whispers, nudging his chin at the plate.

Prompto’s violet-blue eyes turn to him over the rim of his glasses. Slowly, he turns his attention to his half-eaten food, then back to him, thin lips twitching into a tiny smile.

“S’gotten cold,” he whispers back.

Noctis wrinkles his nose. “Never mind.”

They both snicker at this, leaning just a bit closer, as if their laughter is a secret, before they straighten in their slouch. Noctis pulls at his glass of cola and spins it in place, listening to the ice clink together at the movement.

“Nyx joined the Glaives recently, didn’t he?” Nyx used to be in charge of picking him and Ignis up from school. Noctis likes Nyx; he’s quiet and wry but keeps to himself.

“Ah, yes,” Ignis nods again. “Ulric is one of the most talented of the bunch.”

Noct purses his lips.

“But,” Luna begins, brow furrowed and now genuinely interested. “I never heard about this invasion in Galahd. Surely, Tenebrae would have leant a hand… O-or Niflheim?" 

Prompto remains quiet.

Noctis assumes that, like him, Prompto isn’t included in any of the boring political stuff their dads do because he’s still young. Not like Luna, who’s learning more and more, little by little. 

“Lady Lunafreya, I wouldn’t take it to heart,” Ignis hums, his green eyes soft as he calms her. “It was… a small invasion, one that Lucis was able to take care of alone. No need to send the army of three countries for something so small.”

Luna’s cheeks turn pink, choosing to sink all her attention back on her rapidly disappearing drink. 

They return to the Citadel soon after, before the sky can get any darker, the stars out and twinkling down below over a blanket of violet, pink and blue. The guards standing post at the entrance bow and greet them and Clarus Amicitia at the beautiful marble stairs holding the hand of a seven-year-old Iris Amicitia.

“Beautiful,” he declares, amber eyes on them. “Iris and I were just leaving. I’d told Cor to send you home upon arrival.”

“Hi, dad,” Gladio greets, lifting his baseball cap to scratch at his messy brown hair before placing it back on, properly this time.

Clarus gives a deep nod, then he bows, respectfully when his attention shifts to both princes and princess.

“Good evening, your highnesses.” He nudges at his daughter. “Iris.”

“Hi, Noct!” She waves her free hand, swinging the one she has clasped with her father’s.

Clarus sighs.

Gladio chuckles a bit, turning to look at them over his shoulder as he waves at Ignis, nudges his chin at Noctis with a knowing look in his eyes and bows respectfully towards Prompto and Lunafreya. He meets his father and sister halfway, picking her up and allowing her access to his back for a piggyback ride.

They watch them leave before walking up the rest of the steps of the Citadel.

“Shall I escort you to your chambers, Princess?” Ignis asks, head tilted and his light brown hair falling over his eyes, over the frames of his glasses. 

Luna smiles. “That’d be very kind of you, Ignis.” She turns to Noctis and Prompto. “I shall see you both in the morning?”

“Too early,” Noctis yawns.

Prompto snickers and laughs with more feeling when Ignis manages to elbow him for such manners. Noctis pouts, rubbing at his now sore side.

“Goodnight,” Luna calls in a whisper, scanning the passing guards and Glaives before she turns to follow after Ignis.

Noct grins at Prompto, steel-blue eyes glinting. “Ready for a night of video games?”

“ _Born_ ready,” Prompto grins back, glasses glinting in the dim lighting.

 

-

 

Dawn comes in pale yellow and paler pink.

Prompto breathes hard as he makes his way back towards the Citadel, sweat accumulated on his brow, dribbling down the side of his face, dampening his blond hair and fogging up his glasses.

He sees cars passing by, men and women, sometimes both in a single car, sometimes both with children—families. He sees that same woman from the other morning, walking her two dogs. She smiles at him, like that morning. He tries to smile back but it’s wobbly, uncertain. More like a grimace than a warm grin.

 _I’m trying_ , he wants to tell her. Because he is, he really is. But it’s like the more he wants to roll out of the shell he’s caught in, the harder whatever’s keeping him in grips him. Prompto tilts his head down, watches the droplets of sweat fall from his forehead to the ground, like raindrops.

He only lifts his head when he hears powerful footsteps, a rhythm, like running. Far more balanced and melodic than his clumsy ones. Wide-eyed, He looks up and sees the man from before, his heartbeat escalating. Here it is! His chance to say good morning _right back_.

Prompto doesn’t understand _why_ but it’s _important_ that he does. It’s been bothering him, _haunting_ him that he messed up that other day. He’d come off as rude when he’d been nothing but nervous and shy. A-and… He mentally shakes his head. What has he told himself about allowing his thoughts to go to that icky, sticky part while he’s running?

He turns his eyes to the man just as they’re about to pass each other.

“Mornin’!”

Prompto opens his mouth to reply—

But nothing comes out.

Angry with himself, he _swears_ tomorrow will be different.

 

-

 

When Luna and her family and Prompto and his dad are visiting, breakfast is usually had in the bigger dining room. The table is filled with bowls of freshly cut fruit, ham freshly honeyed and roasted, sliced so that the royal families can simply pierce with forks and placed upon their plate. There’s birdbeast eggs, cooked in various forms, making it so hard for Noctis to decide which he wants. 

Usually, he has breakfast with Ignis and Gladio along, enjoys something quicker along with his eggs and meat, like cereal. Gladio teases that he’s a bottomless pit but Noct argues that he’s _growing_ and he’s _hungry_. In his defense, he burns it all during training.

Now, during breakfast, it’s no different as it’s been for the past two weeks and a half. He sits at his father’s right, where he sits at the very head of the long and elegant table. Prompto sits across from him, shoulders curled inwardly, hair neatly brushed and glasses sliding down his button nose.

Next to him sits his dad. His dad is… Noctis doesn’t know how to feel about Prompto’s dad and he feels _bad_ about that. Prompto’s his best friend; he’s supposed to like his best friend’s dad, right? But he feels… unease around Verstael. Rooted in the center of his chest, like a light switch. It causes his skin to prickle, like when he’s gotten cold all of a sudden, randomly and without reason. He makes him feel tense. Makes him not want to move.

And it mostly has to do his eyes, so very similar to Prompto’s but so very not all at once. Half-lidded and observing, disinterested, calculative. Noctis feels _bad_ feeling this way; he hasn’t ever even said a word to him.

He shoves a fork full of eggs into his mouth and listens to his father amicably speak to Sylva, Luna’s mother.

Noctis likes her. She’s soft, in ways Prompto’s father isn’t. Her smiles are gentle even when her blue eyes are stern. She laughs now, shaking her head as she brings a flute of a drink Noctis isn’t allowed to have up to her rose-colored lips.

He thinks she looks like Luna when she smiles. He shifts his attention to her, to Luna, who sits across her mother, smiling an identical smile, pale eyelashes pressed against her cheekbones, hair tucked behind her ears. Ravus sits at the opposite end of Noctis’ dad. He’s quiet; not so polite but not so rude either.

Luna said, once, he can be quite a bit of an ass. But Noct tries not to think too much on that because he laughs. Luna cursing is the funniest thing ever if only because it sounds so wrong on her.

Noctis turns back to his father, watches his green eyes and how clear they look against the bright sunlight filtering in through the long windows of the dining room. Noct smiles without even meaning to. His dad just elicits that reaction out of him.

Regis’ lips quirk more to one side than the other. A smile reserved just for Noctis.

Noct looks down at his breakfast. Today will be a good day.

 

-

 

Luna hums as she roams the small succulent garden.

It’s a small, albeit generous room within the Citadel, in one of the beautiful halls near the courtyards. It’s stylized to look like a greenhouse, its walls made of thick glass, it’s roof no different.

It’s elegant, the succulent within taken care of with such attention. The plants kept along carefully chosen to compliment them. Luna just really _loves_ plants and flowers and how the life of these _living_ things depend on _her_ to live and grow. Because she’s so willing to help them grow. She _wants_ them to.

“I like it here too,” a small voice says and Lunafreya slowly turns around.

Iris stands by the closed door, hands tucked behind her and head tilted. She’s a tiny little girl, her eyes big and round and clearer than her older brother’s. Luna smiles and waves her closer.

“Do you like flowers too?”

Iris bows first.

Luna wants to tell her there is no need for such things. A princess she might be but she wants friends to stand on equal grounds as her, not beneath. But after the messy attempt of being polite, Iris dives into being a _child_. Her eyes growing impossibly wider, more innocent as she nods and tells her that she comes with the gardener on duty to water it here. _He_ tells her about each succulent and once she pricked herself, moved to fast and the needle came back _with_ her, stuck in her _skin_.

She lifts her finger up to show her where it’d been, sure that the tiny hole should still be there. It’s not, of course, but Luna still cringes as she’s supposed to, expression contorted to one of pain.

In the haze of the six year old’s storytelling, Luna finds herself kneeled in the gardens, right under the sun and allowing Iris to weave flowers into her pale blond hair.

“Colors that _match_ ,” Iris tells her. Pink and white, pale-yellow. Small medium sized flowers circling her head like a crown. Lunafreya is quiet, in awe and in wonder of how this tiny girl can do such intricate handwork like this. 

“You look so _pretty_ , Princess,” she coos, skipping around her, once done, and hopping to a stop right in front of her. Her laugh is bubbly and infectious and Lunafreya takes her hands in hers.

“I am Luna,” she tells her. “And no one else.”

Iris looks at her, long lashes fluttering, cheeks pink. “Like… Like Noct and Prompto!” 

Luna laughs again, with heart, head carefully tilted back as so to not upset her new crown. “Indeed!”

“I’m so happy—I’m the only girl here and Noct and Prompto and Gladdy and even _Iggy_ sometimes only wanna play video games or train and I like playing video games too sometimes but sometimes they’re too hard and sometimes I want to play with my dolls but no one wants to.” 

“I want to,” Luna tells her, eyes wide, blue eyes clear. “I love tea parties.” 

Iris gasps. “Me _too_.”

“Fabulous!” Luna claps her hands, her smile wide and her eyes crinkled. “Then, how about _I_ make you a crown of flowers and we go have a tea party?”

“ _Really_?” Iris squeaks.

Without a word, Luna sits her on the ground and unlike Iris, who’d woven the flowers into her hair, Luna braids the stem of flowers together, making a crown of white and the softest pink. When she’s done, she gently places it over Iris’ head, fingering the short brown strands of her hair, adjusting them to compliment the ornament. 

“There,” she breathes, smiling. “Now we look quite ready for a tea party, don’t you think?”

“Yes!”

Hand in hand, they run back into the Citadel, down the halls while laughing. Luna spins the little girl, their dresses fluttering modestly. 

They move like this, up the marble steps and down the halls where Iris leads her to a room that she explains belongs to her. She and Gladdy and their father have rooms in the Citadel where they stay if their dad finishes too late with his duties in the Council. She has lots of plushies and toys and, most importantly, an extra tea set.

So engrossed, neither girls notice when Iris bumps into a Glaive, reminiscent of the day before when Luna’d done just the same. She leans forward and quickly helps her up fixing the skirt of her dress and cleaning it of any dirt.

“Nyx!” Iris pouts. “Watch where you’re _going_!”

Luna adjusts the crown, observing a flower had fallen out of the careful braiding. She makes quick work of the empty space, arranging the blooms to fill it. 

“Iris,” Nyx tells her, crouching down, leaning his forearms on his bent knees, reaching for the flower that had fallen out of the crown. “I’m gona let this one pass and take the blame,” he half-smirks. “But if you ask me… it’s _your_ fault.”

Iris’ pout switches to a bashful smile, eyes scrunching shut when Nyx reaches to tuck the flower behind her ear.

“And tell your brother we’re still on for training in the evening.”

“Kick his butt,” Iris hisses. 

Nyx laughs, a short, soft thing that makes Luna freeze and unabashedly stare at him. He turns his attention to her, expression sobering. His eyes are blue—darker than Noctis’. He has markings under one of them, thin and tiny, they can go unnoticed to anyone not staring as hard as she is.

He half dips in that way he’d done before. “Princess.”

Luna doesn’t realize her breathing’s hitched until Iris tugs her away, Nyx already gone.

 

-

 

The afternoon Sylva Nox Fleuret is due to leave finds Noct, Luna and Prompto in Noct’s room, each in a different slouch and each equally entertained by the screen of his TV, the game they’re engrossed in advancing beautifully.

So in sync are they, that, when a battle has their attention to the left, all three lean in that direction. Likewise, when something beyond interesting is happening to the right, towards the right their upper bodies go.

No different is it when a scene so intense is unfolding, in which silence falls between them and they lean forward, each as slow as the other. Then the music plays from soft to loud, having them lean back just as slow as they’d leaned up front.

Prompto thinks it's so great how despite Luna’s protests and annoyance at them spending so much of their free time playing video games, she can now be—when she allows herself, really—as equally invested as them.

Which is why when Ravus Nox Fleuret opens the door to Noct’s room without knocking, all three jump, their heartbeats erratic.

He looks at them with a blank expression, mismatched eyes observing the scene in front of them. Then, Prompto notices, he looks _annoyed_.

“Is _this_ what the _prince_ of Lucis teaches you?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Shut _up,_ Ravus,” Luna sneers. “We’re in the middle of a _very_ important quest, we have no _time_ for you being a complete _ass_!”

Her brother’s eyes widen at her using such a curse word. Noctis breathes something to himself, shifting. Prompto doesn’t breathe.

Ravus slams the door but not before saying, “Mother is leaving, surely you can stop your obnoxious child’s play and come say goodbye.”

The CGI scene goes on for another three minutes, whereas all three concentrate on what is being said, Noct, as player one, making the right choice. Then, they’re running out the room and down the halls, down the stairs and out the Citadel where they line up to bid the Queen of Tenebrae farewell.

 

-

 

Breathing hard and sweating profusely, Prompto watches the runner approach.

He gasps for air, keeps his mouth open despite his personal training. When he’s close enough, he does not wait, he ignores the hesitation, the stutter of his heart, the alarms in his brain.

He yells, far louder than is necessary and with a bit of a stammer, “G-good morning!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me while writing all this: when are yall gonna grow up so we can get to the good stuff/plot  
> also me while writing all this: pls yall so precious 
> 
> next up: more of these three, more, luna/nyx bumping into each other (pls yall gotta stop meeting like this), more noct/regis, more prompto/verstael and then someone new!
> 
> thank you for sticking around (:


	4. Chapter 4

Verstael, the King of Niflheim, carries himself like all kings do. He’s not an overly tall man, for he stands mere inches below the King of Lucis. But he’s quite stockier than Regis Lucis Caelum. But only by a bit and the thin metal that curls around his body, like armor, over his elegant suit of gray, white and wine-red helps, in a way, to make him look thicker.

He walks down the halls of the Citadel, his steps firm, confident. His violet-blue eyes observing the beautiful walls, the paintings that hang, the vases over intricate tables. He wears a smile on his thin lips, beard stretched with the widening of his mouth.

Maids greet him, pausing to bow, so used to the action that they do not seem bothered over the baskets of soiled laundry they still hold against their hips.

“Good afternoon, Majesty,” they say.

Verstael hums, walks. 

He finds himself in the training halls with spacious rooms fit for guards and Glaives and _princes_ to train all lined up criss-cross from each other. Verstael is quiet enough that he can hear a session going on right at this moment within one of these very rooms. 

He tilts his head, raises a brow, feels the thin curve of his silver crown, resting against his forehead shift. He moves towards the noise, carefully, quietly slips inside. 

If asked, Verstael would say he’s quite due for some entertainment. This vacation, he feels, has stretched for far too long and Lucis can get quite boring. A paradise for a technophile, but as much of a lover of science that he is, it gets boring when he’s bought all that’s new on the market within the first few days. 

Training in this room are the Prince of Lucis himself and his future Shield.

Verstael clasps his hands behind him and watches, mildly grows amused at the reminder that Lucis royalty are quite funny. What with having Shields and the sort. _He_ has no protector but his army. Prompto—

Well.

He does not think much about Prompto. 

Not many expectations there.

Prince Noctis swings his sword, long and thin and quite blunt. But his Shield, Gladiolus, blocks it with ease and parries even easier.

“C’ _mon_ ,” he taunts. “S’that all you got?”

Steel colors the Prince’s eyes the rarest of blue, the lighting in the room catching in their coloring. He dashes towards him, unafraid, grin sharper than the sword in his hands.

“How ‘bout _this_!” 

The clash is something, Verstael observes, watching them twist on their feet, slide into quick stops and sprinting in their attempts to outmatch each other and get under their defense.

Promising.

“Where’d ya learn that one, Noct?”

Noctis laughs, dropping to his knees and sliding as a means to evade a hit.

Verstael turns away from the scene and walks back out of the training room. Perhaps, he thinks, he’ll once again visit some shops before leaving Lucis, after all.

He’ll have something to work on when he returns home.

 

-

 

It has come to Lunafreya’s attention, a few days before her departure to Tenebrae, that her brother and Nyx Ulric, the Glaive she’s consistently bumped, the one that has stolen her breath, have become friends. She’s noticed it one evening, when she’s leaving the dining quarters and Ravus breaks away from her company upon sighting him.

Nyx. 

Luna pauses to watch the interaction.

She can’t _possibly_ understand how this friendship can work if Nyx is tall, muscular. There are shadows under his eyes, demons swimming in the dark blue of his irises, anger and sadness in the set of his jaw, the straightening of his shoulders. He’s dark, like shadows. Ravus is… Well, he’s _Ravus_. Her _brother_. And it is _bothersome_ that he speaks to Nyx, that they grin, with Ravus’ so sardonic and _princely_ while Nyx’s smiles are sharp, like blades. 

They’re friends.

Luna stares, unabashedly, much like she always does when Nyx is involved. She’s quite embarrassed to admit that she studies him so furiously that she’s noticed more markings on his skin; his cheek, the length of his neck. His ear.

They’re thin, tiny. _Subtle_. One wouldn’t _see_ them unless… Unless they’re _Luna_.

He must feel the weight of her stare, standing there in the hall, hands clasped in front of her, fingers clenching the skirt of her dress. He shifts his eyes towards her, clearly still listening to Ravus. His expression sobers up, like he’s reading her as she reads him.

She feels her face heat up, feels her heart flutter in her chest, feels her stomach flop. This is _ridiculous_ , she’s beginning to think. But then the corners of his lips twitch upwards. Subtle, like the markings on his skin. It isn’t a smile, but a smirk.

Aimed to her.

_For_ her. 

Luna swallows her gasp and nervously, shyly tucks some of her short white-blond hair behind her ear as she tries her best not to _scurry_ as she leaves.

 

-

 

“Man,” Noctis yawns, staring at his ceiling. There isn’t much to see, since the lights are off and the curtains that have been placed upon his generous windows are thick and obscure the moon and stars. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Prompto lies next to him on his bed. It’s really big and soft and so they can totally share it and have sleepovers in his bedchambers for Prompto’s remaining days. He shifts now, Noct can envision him rolling over to his side so he can look at him. Prompto does that a lot; looking. Not just at him because then that’d be a little weird but Noctis doesn’t think he’d mind it anyway.

Prompto’s his best friend, after all.

“I don’t wanna leave either,” he says. “Classes are gonna start again and my professor is _boring_.”

Noctis wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even get how you and Luna can stand gettin’ homeschooled.”

“What’s public school like?” Prompto asks, rolling around again.

Prompto shifts a lot. He’s the total opposite of Noct who just needs to find his Spot, curl up and let the snooze wave take him away. He won’t move until morning— _his_ hour of morning, mind you. 

Noctis lifts a hand up and plays with his forelocks a bit. “Not the _greatest_ thing in the world. Too many people.”

Prompto snorts and Noct reaches over to shove him a bit. It starts a bit of a wrestling war, or some version of it. They still lie on the bed but they kick and grab and smack and pinch. They’re both snickering loud, trying to outmatch the other. Noct almost misses the single, firm knock on his door. 

They both freeze, breathing hard, the covers wrinkled and rumpled, pillows messy behind them.

“C-come in,” Noctis calls.

King Regis opens the door and slips inside. Noctis can recognize his dad even in the darkness. He shifts, leaning over to turn on the lamp on his nightstand, letting the yellow-orange glow brighten the circumference of his bed, ending just mere inches away from where his father stands.

“Hello,” he greets, beard shifting as he smiles.

“Hi,” Noctis replies.

“G-good evening, Majesty,” Prompto stutters. 

Regis moves closer, brings his usual chair with him when he comes within its reach. His dad wears a golden knee-brace over his prim suits. It tends to manage a limp from an injury he’d acquired a long time ago, when he’d been younger.

Noctis watches it as it catches against the soft lighting of his lamp, as that knee takes a bit longer to bend as his dad takes his seat.

“I was passing by,” Regis begins, his tone soft and mellow, enthralling and playful, “when I heard two very familiar laughs coming from _this_ very room.”

Noct turns his head to share a look with Prompto. He’s got his face all flushed, his freckles more pronounced against the pink skin of his cheeks. Noct turns his head to look back at his dad. He’s eyeing them, brow raised, green eyes wide and almost expectant. But Noctis knows better.

He’s merely teasing them.

Regis is the first to break into soft chuckles, his eyes crinkled shut, crows feet at the edges. Noct snickers soon after and even Prompto joins with hesitant laughs that soon turn genuine. 

“You two are quite a handful, even when no one is here managing you, hm?” Regis shifts in his seat, leans back and sighs.

“Tell us a story, dad,” Noct yawns. “You’re already here.” 

Regis hums, looking at them with soft eyes of a father. Noctis can already guess what he’s seeing: the messy covers, the messier pillows. He’s pretty sure his pajamas are all rumpled and that Prompto’s in a similar state. At least he looks amused rather than mad.

“What would you like to hear?”

Noct turns his head to Prompto and then turns back to his dad. “Tell Prompto about your adventures, dad.”

“My adventures?” Regis asks, the surprise in his voice an added effect that makes Noct snicker and Prompto feel warm inside.

_His_ father never spoke to him like that, not even when he was far younger.

“Well…” Regis taps at his bearded chin. “Perhaps I can tell you about the time with the Catoblepas…”

Prompto shifts closer to Noct in his excitement, a gasp escaping his thin lips as he leans forward. Regis smiles, his green eyes bright despite the dim lighting of the lamp on the nightstand.

King Regis begins his tale, his voice changing to match the moment in the story, arms waving when need be, and his features switching from grave to the crinkling expression of a laugh. 

It lulls both boys, soothes them. Prompto curls up and leans closer to Noct in his subconscious attempts to get closer to Regis’ voice. Noctis doesn’t mind; he leans just as close. 

Neither boy is awake when King Regis pauses in his storytelling, both succumbed to sleep and the comfort of their shared warmth.

 

-

 

“Is the tea to your liking?” Iris asks, blinking her wide amber eyes and looking far more innocent than a six-year-old already does.

Lunafreya tilts her head a bit, narrowing her eyes as Noctis and Prompto both grimace at their teacups. They look absolutely _ridiculous_ sitting on their pink plastic chairs, their knees bent and close to their chests and bumping into the matching pink plastic table filled with teacups and little plates, each as empty as the last.

She turns to Iris who’s observing their displeasure, her expression, one of excitement when Luna helped convince the boys to play with them, slowly crumbling.

“Oh,” Luna begins, “I’m _sure_ they do, Iris, don’t you worry.” She turns to the boys. “Isn’t that right, boys?” 

Noctis, being the most vocal and daring of the two, turns to her, his steel-blue eyes bright as they catch the sunny lighting of Iris’ playroom. “This teacup is empty.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees.

“Well! If a refill is all you needed, you could have _asked_ ,” Luna says. “Iris, please, serve these boys some more tea!”

Iris nods her head and grabs her teakettle, pink and white and so bright. She leans over the small table and pours the contents of the kettle into Prompto’s cup, then Noctis. Except there really _isn’t_ any contents to pour. 

Noctis and Prompto both stare, slowly turning their attention from the kettle to the teacup.

“There you both are!” Luna smiles at them, sharp and warningly.

They blink before they hesitantly curl a finger into the handle to lift the empty teacups to their lips. 

“Gee,” Prompto murmurs. “T-thanks, Iris.” 

“Yeah,” Noct manages through barely parted lips. “So great.” 

Iris is innocent enough to think they’re both being honest, so she beams at them. Luna smiles at the little girl’s excitement, shifting in her seat and crossing a leg over the other. 

The plan had been to gather all four boys to play with Iris and her. But Gladiolus is having private training with his father and Ignis has lessons for his future role in advising and taking care of Noctis. So, much to Prompto and Noctis’ chagrin, she convinced them to _turn off_ their video games and enjoy the tea party Iris had prepared.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Luna asks, bringing her own empty teacup to her lips and pretending to take a sip. “We must do this often, Iris.”

“Mhmm!” But the child’s happiness sobers up a bit. “But _I_ heard Daddy say Princess Luna is leaving soon.”

“Very true,” she nods. “But these two will be around, I’m _sure_ they’d love to join any tea party you host, Iris, you merely have to _ask_.” 

Iris turns to look at Prompto and Noctis just as Luna does. They look at her with contemplative blue eyes before they turn their attention to Iris.

“Absolutely,” Noctis tells her. 

“Mhmm, yeah,” Prompto agrees. 

This is enough to get Iris smiling again, her eyes crinkled shut, thick and long eyelashes fluttering as she laughs. Luna smiles fondly, feeling as Iris’ happiness is contagious. Prompto’s thin lips twitch as he tries to keep himself from grinning; even _Noctis_ , the more rebellious of the two, turns his head away from them as so to hide his tiny smile.

“Iris,” she sighs, feeling very successful in getting her message across. Iris is the tiniest, youngest and so her needs must be catered to, and _someone_ had to tell these boys. She gestures at her teacup and says, “More tea, please!”

 

-

 

The morning of the day Prompto and King Verstael are scheduled to depart back to Gralea is one Prompto won’t forget for a very long time.

He’s returning from his morning run, feeling fuzzy under his skin, adrenaline spiked and good vibes making him jittery. He’d smiled at the woman with the dogs and, like every morning since he’d managed to push through his wall of nerves, the running man that passes him by on his jog back to the Citadel. 

Dawn is still in the works, the sky caught between dark and light, leaving a mixture of pink and purple where the clear blue of day and the dark indigo of night blend. Prompto slips into the enormous building, still holding on to his good mood despite his usual process of getting through the security, fast as it is, considering his rank.

Inside the Citadel, the halls are still darkened gloomily but maids and servants and Glaives roam unperturbed with it, their steps even. Prompto walks towards the grand stairs with his head ducked low, hoping no one will stop him.

The grand stairs lead to the throne room, where King Regis sits to accept guests in need of quick council with him. Once, Noct and he snuck in when none of the adults where in there and Prompto had been _fascinated_ at how _elegant_ and beautiful it is. 

Of course, the grand stairs, also divides to two separate sets on either sides that lead further into the enormous buildings, into maze-like halls that hold countless of rooms that Prompto can’t even _imagine_ what they are for. But he takes the set on the left, because that’s the route to the bedchambers.

He passes maids that greet him with fondness and Glaives that pause to give him bows he does not see. Perhaps it’s the timing; perhaps it was going to happen at some point, he isn’t quite sure.

It’s when he’s making a turn into another dark hall with golden trimmings that he bumps into his father, King Verstael. 

Prompto, with his head still down, collides fully and from the impact stumbles back until he falls to the ground, glasses crooked on his face and dirty, sweat-stained clothes all rumpled.

Verstael looks at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. But Prompto watches those eyes, so much like his, as they slowly shift from the tip of Prompto’s dirty sneakers, up his sweaty legs, his messy shorts, his messy, damp t-shirt, his sweaty face and messy hair.

Some kind of Prince he must look, Prompto realizes as his face heats up and his father’s expression slowly twists to _something_. Like fury, except it’s not exactly like that. It’s like embarrassment and anger all in one, so carefully placed on his features that it doesn’t even show properly, if that even make sense. It makes sense in Prompto’s rapidly deteriorating mind.

“Get up,” his father demands. “Get up and get out of my sight. Get out of here before anyone else sees you, stupid child.”

Prompto’s breathing hitches as he stands on his feet and runs.

 

-

 

Later in the day, Noct sits in front of Prompto, legs crossed, leaning forward and his brow furrowed. He doesn’t really _get_ what’s up with him but he supposes it’s not good. He’s not _crying_ or anything, because then that’d be a mess. Noct doesn’t think he’d be able to deal with tears. He’d probably panic and have to call Ignis or Luna.

But Prompto isn’t talking and he’s curled up in a way that makes him look so small. So tiny in a way that he didn’t think Prompto could look. Not that Prompto’s _big_ , like when they met. He’s still got some tummy and his cheeks are still a bit wobbly, not that Noct _cares_ about that, but Prompto’s probably working out and it’s showing and—

What was he even _talking_ about?

Something’s wrong with Prompto. 

He’s, like, sad or something. And Noct doesn’t know what to do, it’s making him feel _useless_. He’d tried talking to him but Prompto barely even replied, hell, Noct doesn’t even think Prompto heard him properly, in all honesty.

He sighs and leans back, grabbing his knees and looking around his room.

“Is it cuz you’re leavin’?” he asks.

Prompto doesn’t reply, he doesn’t even move. He just… He kind of just stares at a spot, barely blinking, barely breathing.

Noctis sighs again and nods his head. “Yeah,” he says, pretending he did reply, “I’m sad about that too.” He bites at his lip for a second. “You’re leavin’ tonight and Luna’s leavin’ on Saturday mornin’ and then school’s starting on Monday.”

Noctis sighs. 

They sit like that, in total silence, for a long while. Noctis feels a bit restless but he feels it’s his duty as Prompto’s best friend to stay there by his side. He doesn’t understand what’s happening; maybe he didn’t sleep well? But whatever reason he continues to think of, he drops in favor of it all being because he’s leaving.

It’s the one that makes more sense. 

But it also feels like it’s not entirely about this and Noctis is left on square one again. So he sits there, instead, and basks in Prompto’s presence, in his company, however sad and not-Prompto it is.

Luna arrives after a longer while, knocking and opening the door after. She peeks her head in and looks at them before she lets herself in, closing the door behind her with a soft click. 

“Hello,” she greets as she comes closer, hands clasped behind her and her dress nice and free of any kind of wrinkles. “I was looking for you two everywhere!”

“I think Prompto’s sick,” Noct says. “He’s been like this since after breakfast.”

Luna’s pale eyes turn to their friend and her expression changes for a second. Noctis turns to Prompto then to her.

“Prompto?” Luna asks as she walks around the bed to sit at the edge of the side Prompto’s at. “Dearest Prompto, are you quite alright?”

Noct watches as Prompto slowly looks up at the both of them, his eyes glassy behind his glasses. It takes him a moment to change his expression, his thin lips slowly stretching into a grin, features softening.

“Nervous,” he says, “about going home. D-do you guys want to play video games?”

Lunafreya’s eyes lock with Noctis’ for a quick second before she nods her head, smiling. Noctis isn’t very good at these sorts of things, like Luna and Ignis; he doesn’t really think he’s good with words and his actions get really twitchy from how he tends to hesitate.

But… even _he_ can tell Prompto’s just kind of shoved whatever’s had him frozen in his own world and has begun to act like everything’s okay.

Still, Noct follows Luna’s lead and nods his head too. He rolls of the bed and makes his way to his TV and his gaming systems. He comes back with the three controllers; black for him, white for Luna and the other black one for Prompto. They’ve already settled into their spots, on the soft couch on the other end of his bedchambers, stationed appropriately for these occasions. 

Noct looks at Prompto for a long moment, pausing from dropping down on the space left for him, at Prompto’s right side. He’s not expecting the smile that his friend gives him and Noctis doesn’t think it’s Prompto’s usual smile, so full of bashfulness and well hidden mischief, but it’s a smile that leaves a semblance of relief in him.

So he drops down and they play well into the afternoon, well into the evening, when Prompto has to leave.

 

-

 

Lunafreya curtsies at the King of Niflheim, a charming smile on her lips and her pale eyes bright. “May the blessed Stars see you well on your journey home, Your Majesty.” 

She watches as King Verstael gives a generous nod, the smile on his thin lips not quite reaching his violet-blue eyes. Not that she expects it to; Luna knows that Verstael is much more serious than Regis, if not quite ill-mannered.

He shakes hands with the King of Lucis, a firm grip and a solid shake. Regis lifts his other hand to place it on Verstael’s shoulder, gives it a squeeze as they exchange words of pleasantries, plans, perhaps, Luna assumes, for future meetings. Then, Verstael makes his way to the elegant car waiting for him and the Prince.

She turns to him, standing at her side, and smiles softly. He’s a lot… she can’t say _calmer_ , since he hadn’t been in any kind of fit. But he’s a lot more _animated_ than he had been when she’d found him and Noctis. But there’s still a look on his face, one of defeat and it comes in the form of emptiness. That’s just _it_ , she thinks.

He looks _empty_ and it’s _horrible_. 

Luna wraps her arms around him and brings him close, holds him tight. 

“Be strong, dearest Prompto,” she whispers into his ear. “We’ll see each other again soon.” 

The smile on his thin lips does not reach his eyes, but unlike his father, it is in a gut-clenching way and Luna wants so much to protect him. She returns it with a smile of her own, lifting a hand up to fix his glasses back up his nose.

Noctis comes and wraps an arm around Prompto’s shoulders.

“I’m not playing King’s Knight I without you, so… come back asap,” he says, lips quirked to the side. “Don’t keep me waitin’.” 

Luna laughs, feeling lighthearted and even more so when Ignis and Gladio come to say goodbye to the Niflheim Prince. Prompto’s smile seems the most genuine he’s been able to muster.

It’s wiped off with a single call from his father and she, along with the boys, watch s Prompto begins to descend the marble stairs of the Citadel, only pausing to bow and bid his goodbye to King Regis. 

He does not look at them when he gets into the car, not when he settles in. Not even when it drives away.

 

-

 

The worst part of it is that his father does not speak to him. He does not have to. It’s in the dismissal of the reproach, in the disregard. The _overlook_. It’s as if Prompto is not even there, sitting beside him, taking up as little space as he possibly can as he curls into himself, hands clasped together, resting on his lap.

His mind runs in circles, in the wondering of what his father can possibly think of him now, in what he thought of him as he’d looked down on him, sprawled on the ground in sweaty clothes, coming back from a workout.

He must have been embarrassed—of _course_ he was. That is the whole point of this. He’d been downright mortified at seeing him in such a state and the thought of the possibility of any of the other royalty seeing him… Prompto bites at the inside of his cheek.

His father must be furious with him.

Or perhaps not. That would mean his father would put thought to Prompto’s existence and, by the looks of it, Prompto currently doesn’t exist.

For a second he wants to shift, find a way to bury his discomfort. But that would mean to move, make noise in his movement, the slow, soft rustle of his clothes. Bring attention to himself.

The very idea makes Prompto’s heartbeat ram against his chest, his hands shake despite how they’re clasped together. 

He almost regrets even beginning his workout, the slow but steady buildup of his stamina, the few but solid pounds he’s lost. He’d been so sure it’d make his father proud, make him pay attention to him, make him _want_ him—never did he think it’d bring the exact opposite results.

Prompto feels the spinning cycle of a downward spiral, the ugly stickiness in the very center of his mind, the sinking feeling in his chest.

His breathing picks up and he concentrates in keeping it quiet, in the burning behind his eyes and not in the despicable hissing thoughts curling around is skull. He wants to sleep but the very idea makes his nerves shake.

He drifts off like that, eyes glued on a spot of the elegant car as it drives them out of Lucis, to Niflheim. There are stops made, he knows, and perhaps he does sleep, perhaps they are in a building appropriate for their rank, perhaps they are in separate rooms, perhaps there is a guard for him, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Prompto does not remember it. He does not remember any of it. He moves as he is told, follows his father’s movements and stays within the perimeter the guards make around them. His mind has shut down and it does not reboot, not even when the familiar city of Gralea comes into view. The snowy mountains in the distance, the sky, a lighter shade of night than in Lucis and Tenebrae, the stars like the freckles on Prompto’s cheekbones.

Prompto drops onto his bed and exhales, long and exhausted, his head too heavy for his shoulders. He misses Luna and he misses Noct. He feels lonely and unnecessary. Perhaps he shouldn’t go out to run tomorrow. Or the next day. Or ever. 

He wonders what is expected of him, what is wanted of him and knows he has no answer because it’s never been given to him. No one’s ever told him a single thing.

A part of him wants to think it’s not his fault. But that’s not true. It’s always his fault.

A knock on his door makes him sit up on his bed, adjust his glasses, empty eyes on the door as it opens. 

“Highness?” a maid asks. But she turns the lights on and Prompto recognizes her as Hortense, a maid that has grown fond of him and he of her. “I heard you have arrived, sweetling.”

“Happy Year, Hortense,” Prompto mumbles, feeling the familiar sting in the back of his eyes. She nears and Prompto eyes the tray in her hands.

“I brought you a snack?” she pauses, her brown eyes on him.

Prompto opens his mouth, closes it. 

Hortense extends the tray and Prompto looks, expecting to see fattening sweets and the sort but finds an assortment of fruits. Prompto’s thin lips twitch into a soft smile, the stinging from before forming into tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Thank you.”

Hortense sets the tray to the side and sits on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Prompto’s knee. “Everything alright?” 

Prompto shrugs.

She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t prod, but she smiles when Prompto shyly reaches for some fruits and nibbles at them. 

“How are your friends, the Prince and Princess?” she asks standing from her seat to lift his luggage onto the bed, unzipping it and beginning to unpack his clothes.

Prompto can’t help but feel light at the thought of them; he misses them dearly. He tells her about Noctis and how he thinks he’s really brave and speaks whatever’s on his mind and he makes sure to mention he has two new friends: Ignis and Gladio and they’re older, like Luna. Oh, and he can’t forget to mention Luna’s mood swings.

“Ah yes,” Hortense chuckles, “When a girl becomes a lady, she tends to have moments in which her emotions will get the best of her.”

“Wait,” Prompto points at the clothes Hortense holds in her hands. His workout clothes. “Throw those out. I won’t be needing them anymore.”

She tilts her head. “But, Highness, these are for your morning runs, are they not? I was going to put them to wash with the evening clothes to be ready for tomorrow morning.” 

Prompto shakes his head, pushes his glasses back up his nose. “No.”

“Child,” Hortense sighs. “What is the matter?”

“Father… Father saw me and… I don’t think. I shouldn’t…” He shakes his head again.

Hortense sucks at her teeth and abandons her task, comes around the bed to sit right at the edge of where Prompto sits so she can wrap an arm around him, squeeze him against her as she gives a short, dry laugh.

“Highness, with all due respect to your father, the King, but it is not his decision to make if you wish to work on yourself. Do it because you want to, do it for yourself. Do not stop because of one little inconvenience.” She looks at him with aged eyes, crows feet defined as she smiles. “Will you really put to waste the work you’ve done so far?” 

Prompto does not answer and he loses himself in his thoughts. But Hortense does not seem to mind as she collects his empty tray and takes his workout clothes with her.

 

-

 

Noctis groans, swaying in his stance and leaning his forehead against his father’s arm. He stays like this for a second before he shifts again, groans again. And then again. And then once more. 

King Regis chuckles at his antics but he also does not budge.

For once, his father is dressed in something lighter than his normal suit. At least, he’s missing the jacket and the dress shirt’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons undone. Noct doesn’t blame him—Galdin Quay is kind of _hot_.

And his dad’s decided to show him how to fish.

Noct thinks he’d like it if the fishes would cooperate more but so far _nothing_.

“Dad,” he whines. “You said this would be _fun_.”

“It _is_ ,” Regis replies, holding onto his rod and still dedicatedly waiting for a catch. His green eyes are bright and clear under the sun. “What makes it fun, son, is the suspense of _when_ a fish comes in for a bite.”

Noctis rolls his eyes but is unable to fight off the smile off his lips.

They’re in Galdin Quay for a short press conference, or something like that. Noctis doesn’t _really_ pay attention to the details, even if he knows he probably should. The only reason why he has even been allowed to come is because he has a three-day weekend from school. Which he thinks is the _best_ ; it’s like a little vacation with his dad and, frankly, he doesn’t really get those often.

Now, he’s trying to teach him how to _fish_.

“Are we going to eat the fishes you catch?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We can,” Regis agrees, nodding his head. The horn-like crown on the side of his head catches in the sun’s lighting and Noct’s heart skips a beat for reasons even he doesn’t understand.

“We can get Clarus to cook it,” Noct says, his grin mischievous and sharp.

Regis throws his head back and laughs a good, hearty laugh and Noct feels proud. And his dad is going to say something, maybe add in on the joke at his Shield’s expense, but he closes his mouth at the sharp tug at his line. His green eyes focused, his brow furrowed.

“Noctis,” he breathes, “quickly, look!”

Noct focuses his attention at Galdin’s clear blue waters, watches the movements of the fish trying to swim away with his dad’s lure still in its mouth. He switches his focus from this to his dad who shifts from one side to the other, reeling here and there, sometimes for seconds, sometimes for longer. Each time, the fish comes in closer and closer and, halfway through, it _jumps_ out of the water, flapping its tail and managing to rain water on him and his dad. 

“Did you _see_ that, dad?” Noct laughs, more of a reaction than an actual question.

Regis laughs along with him, an eye scrunched closed, arms and hands working as he reels the fish in. Noctis doesn’t know how long this goes on but then his dad is pulling the fish out, holding it up with by the handle of a gripper.

“Look at that, Noct,” he says, his beard shifting as he grins.

“Dad, look,” Noctis laughs as he comes to stand next to the silvery fish. “We’re the same size.”

There’s laughter and Noct can’t remember the last time he’s had this much fun with his dad. Not that Regis neglects him! Of course not, because the King makes sure to come and visit him at least once over the day, have a nice chat about absolutely _anything_. And that is not counting having dinner together.

But it’s _this_ that Noctis has always craved. Moments that were stolen the moment Noctis turned older than five because the King had other duties to attend to, meetings, briefings, signings, paperwork, gross things, boring things.

“My turn dad, I wanna go next.” Noctis picks up the rod from the ground and holds it in both hands, unsure of what he should do. Regis comes to stand behind him, his warm, older hands covering his and helping him set them into position.

“Alright,” Regis tells him, almost like a conspiratorial whisper, “Like this.”

 

-

 

Luna grunts as she blocks and parries a blow with her Trident, pale blue eyes narrowed as she glares at Ravus. Her forelocks stick to her damp forehead, sweat trickling to drip off her chin.

She grips the handle of the Trident tightly, whips it around over her shoulder and readies to attack, to swing it back down and hopefully wipe that grin off her brother’s stupid face.

Ravus uses a blade carved by the best smiths in Lucis and gifted upon him by the King himself. He wields it with pride and like any trueborn warrior; Luna has not been challenged like this before, not to say that training with the other guards has not been difficult.

It’s just that she hasn’t wanted to kick their asses the way she wants to kick Ravus’.

She gives a short cry as she sprints straight to him, lifting her trident up and taking her aim. With another cry, she sends it whirling in the air, directly to him. She knows it’s for nothing; he’ll easily block it, send the Trident off course and she’ll be open.

But Ravus doesn’t know she’s been training _harder_.

And just as she’s predicted, Ravus lifts his fine blade and slams it to the Trident with a piercing _zing_ of blade against blade. Luna watches the Trident as it flies in the air, farther away from her, turns her eyes to Ravus who’s already calculating and making his way to her. 

“To _me_ ,” she calls, and the Trident dematerializes in a glow of broken light and reappears in her hands in time to block Ravus’ blade once more. Luna gasps, eyes clenched shut.

“You’d be much stronger if you would stop skipping on your training, sister,” Ravus drawls.

“I am training just _fine_ ,” she snaps back.

Ravus pushes back, straightens himself for a moment before he hefts his blade as he settles back down into a battle stance. “If you believe so.”

“I _do_ ,” Lunafreya insists as she too bends her knees, Trident in her tight grip.

Tenebrae is mercilessly warm today and despite the training atrium’s open space it seems to do very little in helping them feel less of the heat. It doesn’t seem to affect her brother, or, at the very least, he is doing a very good job in hiding it. So Luna does the same. 

She waits for him to make the first move, her eyes piercing and gauging. And when he does, Luna meets him halfway.

 

-

 

Prompto is thirteen when two very life-changing things happen to him.

He’s grown quite taller and he’s gotten a lot slimmer. He still runs because it has become a part of his lifestyle in these two years that have passed since he’s begun but alongside this he has begun to pick up other workouts, but he feels it is not enough. 

None of this, of course, is of the two things that cause a ripple in him, like a pebble in a pond.

The first happens in his bedchambers, when he returns from his studies for the day, books in his arms and ready to be tossed onto his bed for homework. His room is a clean clutter of photographs he’s begun to take last year, when he’d snuck out into the city on his own and gotten a rather old fashioned camera, one that spits out the picture after taking it.

He’s even taken a picture of the night sky for Luna, he has it safely tucked into one of his drawer, clumsily stuffed into an envelope. He hasn’t given it to her because he thinks he’ll fill it up with lots of pictures of Gralea.

But what makes him pause is the white box set at the center of his bed, the paper-wrapper inside a dark red. Prompto furrows his brow, dropping his books on the floor at the foot of his bed, never taking his eyes off the box.

For a moment his heartbeat picks up, remembering stories in his history lessons, of princes and kings being killed by surprise attacks in such fashions like these.

Tentative, he leans over and slowly pulls the box closer and for a moment he does nothing more and stares at it. But when he finally musters the strength to lift the box, he isn’t prepared for what’s inside.

Two pistols lie there in a bed of dark red tissue paper. They lie opposite of each other, linked together by a silver chain at the bottom of their handles. One is colored a pearly white with silver detail and the other a steely silver with lighter undertones.

Prompto’s brow furrows as he stares, reaching a shaky hand to stroke the tip of a finger along them, terrified to even pick one up.

The second thing that happens to Prompto that further shifts his life happens when he walks along the courtyard, his outdated camera in hand as he takes pictures of anything and everything.

It is here that he meets the new High Commander of his father’s army.

She’s not a very tall woman, despite the help of her very sharp and deadly-looking boots. And her armor is wiry and pointy and intimidating, her stance, hand on her hips and weight on one leg, helping in the intimidation. Her hair is pulled back, silver under the sun with forelocks falling over her forehead, short strands falling to frame her face. And her eyes are a frosty green as they watch everything with impassive coolness as she speaks with some guards, laughs a sharp laugh. 

Prompto takes a picture and as it develops in his hand he watches how the guards that stand with her stare at her with respect and something like intimidation.

He turns around and makes his way back inside the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a month to update* wow who even is she.................
> 
> this chapter didnt even turn out how i had originally envisioned it...a month ago... bc there was supposed to be more aranea... damn she got away again. at least i _got_ to her... and the (first) timeskip. no longer are they lil baboos. now they're, like, medium baboos. anyway. here's to hoping i dont take another month or i'll never get this done. thanks for sticking around (:


	5. Chapter 5

Noctis leans against the railing of the bleachers, staring down at the Glaives training down in the platform. He hums as he exhales, shifting to curl his arms and have his hands rest on his shoulders, the top of the railing pressing against his chest. Next to him, Gladio wraps a hand around the bar to hold up his weight, as enthralled as Noctis, his other hand on his hip and his amber eyes following the movements from down below.

They’d just finished their training; Noct’s hair is still damp and messy, a small white towel messily hanging around his shoulders. His muscles throb a bit as he stands still. It’s like despite finally graduating from stick swords to an actual one, his arms are still not used to the weight. It’s been nearly a month!

Still, he’s trying his best because he _knows_ that once Gladio tells Clarus and Noct’s dad, King Regis, that he’s ready, he’ll get his Engine Blade. It’s a blade that’s passed down from monarch to monarch; the first sword a Lucian prince wields before a personal blade is crafted, unique and fit for it’s wielder and no one else.

The thought _excites_ him. 

Noctis knows that with the three greater nations at peace, there’s no real threat for war. But there are still villages and lands that fight; for what, Noctis doesn’t know, but they do it anyway. 

That’s how Galahd was taken and Nyx and his friends, Crowe and Libertus, lost their home. 

Nyx is down there training right now and Noctis thinks he’s _so cool_. But in the last three years Noct has grown quieter and keeps a lot of his thoughts to himself. It doesn’t change the fact that he watches all of Nyx’s moves with bright gray-blue eyes filled with admiration.

Nyx is part of the Kingsglaive, his father’s personal guards built of the most elite. Normally, the group has their own place to train and practice with the magic they borrow from the King. But it’s also not a rare sight to find them using the training hall for casual sparring; Noctis likes it when that happens. He likes to watch how they move; Nyx and his twin kukri blades and Crowe threatening with a wave of her hands, flick of her wrist, waggle of her fingers. 

Noctis usually has one-on-one training with Gladio in the training rooms. That’s for private lessons and nothing is more private than the Prince’s training. Down at the bottom of the training wing is the training hall, where there’s a platform for at the center and bleachers circle around it for other guards to sit and watch, wait their turn for whatever group training they’re taking a part of.

“So cool,” Noct whispers now, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his eyes following the aerial twist Nyx does before he warps out of the way from one of Crowe’s spells. 

Gladio chuckles next to him but he’s as fascinated as Noct and can’t even manage to tease the younger boy about it without looking like a hypocrite. Ignis slowly appears, prim and proper, his hair neat and his green eyes peering down, glasses sliding down his nose. 

“Hmm,” he hums appreciatively, “Ulric is… quite a sight to watch.”

“Didn’t know he had a fanbase, either,” they hear from behind them, causing all three boys to turn and look at Cor Leonis, one of the Crownsguard and only beneath Clarus Amicitia, Gladio’s father.

The Crownsguard, like the Kingsglaive, is built by the most elite soldiers, tasked with protecting the royal family, the Crown City of Insomnia and the Citadel, where the royal family lives.

During one of his lectures, that he shared with Ignis, Noctis had questioned the necessity to have so many hierarchies in the Lucian military, especially now that there’s been peace since before he’d been born. His reply, by his patient tutor, had been simple: the military had been established long, long ago, before even King Regis’ time. A time where war was the norm and the need to protect royalty and the kingdom was far more than a need itself but a _requirement_ and, for many, a _desire_. 

It is why the King has a Shield, a sworn protector not only in battle but also in politics and all else. It is why they have Advisors; it is why there is a Kingsglaive and a Crownsguard and, then, the rest of the military soldiers that follow all orders from those above them.

“You gotta admit he’s awesome, Cor,” Noctis tells him, turning back down to catch the last bits of the spar before turning back to Cor. “He could give you a run for your money.”

“Hmm,” Cor hums, pale blue eyes narrowed but amusement curving his lips. “I highly doubt that.”

Watching, Nyx pick up one of his kukri blade from the ground as he follows Crowe out of the training area, Noctis turns his back to the empty space and looks at Cor, smirk crooked. “Yeah? You should prove it.” 

“Or should I spar with you, Highness?” Cor asks back, head tilted and his eyes sharp with a challenge. 

Noctis gulps and quickly shakes his head.

Gladio laughs loudly, slapping his hand to Noct’s back. “Don’t think he’s gonna be ready for that ‘til he’s at _least_ twenty, Cor.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Noctis protests.

Cor looks at them for another moment, his expression hard and unreadable. Cor went along with King Regis on his adventure, long ago; Noctis found it hard to believe, considering the man is much younger than both his dad and Clarus. But his father had insisted it to be truth and laughed at the memories of a fifteen year old Cor, grouchy and quite sternly set on following rules. He can see that in the man now, even as his expression sobers up into a half-smirk, turning around and leading the three of them out of the training hall. 

“What were you doing here anyway, Cor?” Noct asks.

“I could ask you the same thing, Highness.”

Noctis holds onto either end of the white towel around his shoulders. “I was training.”

“Is that what they call it nowadays?” Cor drawls, sparing Ignis a knowing glance.

“H-hey!” Noct turns to Gladio, elbows his ribs. “Tell him, Gladio. We were training, right?”

Gladio snorts, choosing to remain quiet and snickering as Cor The Immortal continues to tease the Prince as they head back to the main halls of the Citadel.

 

-

 

Unlike Lucis, Tenebrae is a lush, green mountainous country surrounded by old structures resembling castles. At the very heart is a mountain named Zoldara Henge, where Fenestala Manor resides, home to the royal family.

It is from here that long, thick and aged bridges connect the manor to the villages that surround Zoldara Henge. And bridges connect the villages together, like webs.

Vines curl around the old architecture, tight and evergreen. It paints the country a vibrant green, peppered with the blue of the sylleblossoms known as the nation’s true beauty.

Lunafreya inhales happily as she rides a carriage down one of the bridges and to one of the many villages. Ravus sits next to her, quiet and possibly brooding but even his mood is not enough to dampen hers; she _loves_ to visit the villages.

The villagers are kind and welcoming, so genuine in their greetings, in their smiles. It isn’t because of her royal status, in the fact that she’s being groomed to one-day rule after her mother. It is because they truly care—it’s _wonderful_ , such a _wonderful_ feeling to have reciprocated.

Gentiana sits in front of them, her eyes closed and her head ducked low, as if meditating during their ride. She is the Commander of Tenebrae’s army, her mother’s advisor, right hand, and closest friend. She is who stays behind and keeps Tenebrae safe when Sylva travels to meet with the King of Lucis and the King of Niflheim.

She is everything Ravus will be once Lunafreya ascends the throne. But that won’t be until a long time; their mother is healthy, Luna is merely seventeen and he but twenty-one. Luna likes it this way; no need to rush.

“Do you have plans for this trip, Lady Lunafreya?” Gentiana asks, voice soft and breathy.

Luna looks at her, catching the dark green of her eyes before she closes them again with a flutter of her eyelashes. She remembers a time when she and Ravus were much, much younger and her brother had whispered his feelings of finding Gentiana eerie. Luna thinks she’s _nice_.

“I want to visit the markets,” Luna confesses with a soft laugh. “I _adore_ watching so many stalls and vendors all huddled down the length of one street. And the shoppers!”

Ravus snorts. Luna fights the urge to dig her elbow into his ribs.

“And…” Luna sobers up, her smile smaller and softer. “If there are any sick villagers, then I will heal them.”

Ravus turns to her at this, his mismatched eyes filled with incredulity. “You can’t possibly believe you have honed your magic well enough to accomplish that, sister.”

Luna lifts her chin in defiance, her expression still soft despite it. “Even so, I will try. They are our people, Ravus. We Nox Fleuret were gifted with these healing abilities—“

“ _You_ were—“ Ravus cuts himself off and makes a gurgling noise, waving a dismissive hand in the air and turning away to look out the window.

Silence falls over them and Luna thinks the stuffiness she feels is all in her head. Gentiana closes her eyes again after sparing them both a glance, dark-painted lips twitching into a ghost of a smile.

Luna can… understand Ravus’ mild frustration. The blessings that run through their veins, passed down through generations, have always been for the women. Her mother can heal and she too once wielded the Trident before she passed it down to Luna to practice, bond, and master it.

Ravus, as a man bearing the Nox Fleuret name, has none of this. Not the warmth that pools in her stomach, like a cauldron that keeps her healing magic in place, to bubble and spill when she summons the magic forth and cover her hands in opaque-white. And surely not the Trident, an enabler to the magic she carries within but also her deadliest protector.

Lunafreya bites the inside of her cheek, looking out the carriage’s window for a brief moment, at the gorgeous trees, vines and flowers that Tenebrae offers from its rich soil. Then, she slowly, carefully leans her head against her brother’s arm, thin and wiry muscles losing their tension when Ravus does not push her away, rather he relaxes. 

The rest of the ride is in silence and Luna pretends she does not fall asleep for a moment, but the surprise in her expression upon lifting her head from Ravus’ arm to look at the village gives her away.

Something like a giggle bubbles up her throat and passed her half-parted lips as she climbs down the carriage, forgetting to wait for the carriage driver to help her down. She settles her sandaled feet onto the cobblestone ground, admiring how even through the spaces between the stones, grass breaks through.

“We will be back by noon,” she tells the driver, her smile brilliant. “Feel free to wander, Aniello!”

She walks further into the village, Ravus close to her and Gentiana not far behind. Luna knows she’s acting like a child out in the streets for the first time, but it’s just… she _adores_ leaving the Manor, socializing with others.

Luna misses Noctis and Prompto and it’s in these moments that she feels like she manages to control the longing for her dearest friends. The adults have not had any necessary meetings and though her mother has already granted her the privilege to travel to Lucis for the summer, that won’t be until another few months.

She sighs, waving at a little girl that points at her.

“I want to buy presents for Noctis and Prompto,” she tells Ravus as they walk.

Ravus scoffs, rolling his mismatched eyes. “They are children, I don’t see why you bother with them.”

“They are the Princes of the two countries that help ours _and_ they are _my_ friends.” She pinches the back of his palm, weaving her arm with his like the vines that dominate their land. “Noctis’ birthday is at the end of the summer and Prompto’s is in autumn.”

“I don’t care,” Ravus drawls, yelping a bit when Luna pinches him once more.

It is an inexplicable sensation, the one that she feels when they enter the long and busy streets where the stalls and vendors are set up, side by side, at the edges of the street and at the very center in a long, oval manner.

The streets are crowded with villagers, women with thin veils over their heads to shield them of the sun and the heat, children hanging on to their mothers’ dresses or shopping baskets weaved from dried weeds. 

There are about fifteen voices and twenty conversations all happening at once, vendors yelling prices and listing their goods, women and men alike pausing to gossip.

Lunafreya is transfixed, yellow-blue eyes wide with fascination. 

“Oh,” she gasps, “should we take back some fruits? The cooks would appreciate that, I’m sure.”

“It’s their job to do that themselves.” 

“ _Ravus_ ,” Luna stresses, looking up at her brother with a pained expression. “You’re far too hard to those around you.”

“And you far too soft,” he retaliates. He guides her away from the fruit stands and Luna sucks at her teeth, watching the stands from over her shoulder with a longing expression before she turns away. “Find your children their gifts so we may leave.”

“You are so irritating,” she hisses, raking her mind for what Noctis would say in this circumstance. “Would it hurt you to stop being such a… a…. such a _dick_ for at least a moment?”

Ravus choking on his own spit is a nice thing to commit to memory, something to tell the boys when she next sees them. Smiling, Lunafreya breaks away from his grip and wanders over to a stand filled with trinkets.

 

-

 

Noctis points the plastic gun at the screen, taking a shot then changing his angle before taking another shot and repeating the process.

His school bag’s leaning against the video game machine and his uniform’s messy; sleeves rolled up his arms, tie and jacket discarded. Ignis stands next to him, unimpressed and clearly uninterested in the zombie game that’s grabbed about ninety percent of Noct’s attention.

It’s a _school_ night.

Not that Noctis cares, of course. If it weren’t for Ignis’ insistence, Noct would surely ‘forget’ about homework, five days a week. But then again, that would disappoint his dad and Noct wouldn’t want that.

Still.

School night— _who cares_?

Ignis does, by the sound of his nth exasperated sigh.

“Hey,” Noctis starts, voice drawling from how distracted he is. “What’s Niflheim like?”

This seems to grab Ignis’ attention. He turns his green eyes towards him, the glare of the video game’s screen reflected against his glasses. Iggy’s fifteen now and despite his prim and proper way of dressing and holding himself, he can’t seem to bother with his hair; it falls messily down his forehead at the front, tucked behind his ears and falling right at the base of his neck. As he blinks now, the strands of light brown shift with the way they flirt with his eyelashes.

A total contrast to his high school’s uniform, all neat and free of wrinkles. 

“I’ve never been,” Ignis confesses. “But I’ve read from the school textbooks, as should _you_ , if you’d pay attention.” He rolls his eyes at Noctis’ careless wave. “Niflheim is… a country far larger than Lucis. Gralea, is it’s capital—“

“I know all this,” Noct sighs. “I just wanna know what it’s _like_.”

“Then, why don’t you go with His Majesty when he next meets with the Niflheim King?”

Pursing his lips, Noctis stares at the zombies that begin to swarm around him. The only downside of this game is that it’s set up so that it’s in his point of view, so there’s technically no main character. He’s never been too fond of games like these. But he’s heard that the second installment is gonna ditch this layout.

“I really don’t wanna do that,” he finally says, shooting the zombie that’s closest to him. “I don’t really like Verstael.”

“Hmm,” Ignis hums. “He _is_ quite the intimidating type….”

Noctis scoffs, “What an understatement, Specs.”

Silence falls around them again, the only noise the thousands of sound effects coming from all the video games within the arcade. Noctis is close to beating his last high score, something that makes him giddy. But achieving that would mean Ignis would try to haul him out of the arcade and back to the Citadel for a long session of studying. Noctis _dislikes_ studying.

Naturally, he sabotages his streak.

“Damn,” he hisses.

Ignis merely sighs, watching him slide in two more coins for another round. Noct isn’t _mean_ or _rude_ ; he _did_ try to convince his friend to play with him, considering Ignis is leaning against Player B’s set. But it’s just that Ignis isn’t fond of just _any_ video games. If it isn’t an RPG with a nice, long and compelling story, then Ignis doesn’t really care.

“Noct,” Iggy begins, never looking up from his cellphone, “what brought up the curiosity of Niflheim?”

Noctis shrugs a shoulder, an eye closed as he aims at a zombie’s head. “Nothing really. S’just something I wonder about from time to time.”

“Hmm,” Ignis hums again.

“I mean, I’ve been to all places here in Lucis, right? And I’ve been to Tenebrae, even if it’s only just to Luna’s place. I even went with Dad to Accordo last month—which, by the way, I’m never gonna do that again. I just went for the chance to fish but _fuck_ was there so much water.”

Ignis sighs at Noctis’ inability to choose his words wisely, something he is _sure_ is an influence of public school. 

“Come on, Noct, it’s getting late,” Ignis says after another long moment of silence.

“Can’t,” Noctis drawls. “I haven’t beaten my high score, Specs. You _said_ we could stay until I did.”

“ _Noct_.”

 

-

 

Prompto paces the length of his bedroom, hair damp from his shower and nightclothes rumpled from how hastily he’s pulled them on.

Lately, his mind has been elsewhere. Tangled in knots from the never-ending circles his thoughts keep running on, his brain never seeming to quiet down and come to a conclusion. Even paying attention during his lessons has become difficult and he must put so much effort to stay alert and on top of his studies lest he falls behind and it gets to his father. 

His father only ever cares when he fails, after all.

Gives him reason to come and—

Well that’s not important. 

Prompto presses his thin lips together, looking up towards the balcony of his room and towards the mountains that, even now, can’t seem to soothe the restlessness inside him.

It’s indecision, a lack of course of action. The inability to communicate and the sheer horror to even _try_.

But he _has_ to, that’s the _problem_.

He brings his thumb to his lips, biting at his nail, mind distracted. He stands there, in the middle of his room, glasses slipping down his nose and the back of his neck still wet from his shower, for what seems like an eternity. He’s only shifting his attention to the white box carefully resting on hi desk when there’s a knock on his door before it is opened.

“Highness,” Hortense greets, smiling and holding a small tray with a plate of fruits. “Look,” she half-whispers conspiratorially, “they were all brought in this morning.”

Prompto smiles weakly at her and moves to sit at the edge of his bed, accepting the plate and fork offered to him. “Thank you, Hortense.”

She half bows and he stares at the gray-white hair at the crown of her head for a moment before he looks down at his fruits. Before Hortense stepped up, Prompto had no one and he was very much alone. He never really sees his father and that’s something that’s never changed from when he’d been a small child. The wave of affection and attention the old maid showers him with is… strange. Welcomed, but strange.

Prompto doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

“Something on your mind?”

He’s quiet for a moment, pretending it to be because he’s chewing. The truth is he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing those thoughts and feelings with Hortense or anyone for that matter. They’re scorching, choking feelings for him to deal with alone, whenever they manage to surface from where he dumps them, in the darker corners of his being.

“Yes, actually,” he says, instead. He sniffs a bit, pushing his glasses back up his nose with the back of his wrist. “I saw…” He trails off, spearing a melon. “What is the name of the woman… The High Commander?”

Hortense tilts her head a bit, expression softening as she goes deep in thought. Then her eyes go round, lips parting and the wrinkly bits of her skin shaking as she moves. “Do you mean Aranea?” She nods, answering her own question. “Aranea Highwind! Beautiful woman. Very dangerous too. I hear guards say she was a mercenary once.”

“Aranea,” Prompto repeats, taking a bite of melon and only half listening to the rest of what Hortense says.

The following day finds Prompto wandering the palace.

Vacuo Terrae is grand, the largest building and also the tallest with its towers. It protects Gralea from it’s location in what one would call the ‘back’ of the city, where the King and his military can watch over not just his people but the lands for miles and miles.

Prompto’s boots echo quietly against the granite tiles as he walks, his steps both fast paced and slow as he wanders and searches. His heart races in his chest and he almost hopes he doesn’t find who he searches for; the thought almost annoys him.

It’s been _weeks_ since he saw Aranea in the courtyard and maybe the same amount of time, if not longer, since he received those pistols from his fathers. 

He hasn’t touched them since. And he doesn’t think this is why he’s looking for her. Prompto thinks his thoughts are all tangles and knotted, his goals murky, if they exist at all. Maybe that’s why he’s subconsciously sabotaging the chances of bumping into the woman, of finding her.

Jeez, he thinks, curling his fingers into soft fists. He’s a downright mess. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

He pauses for a second, playing with the hem of his vest and observing the empty hallway. Vacuo Terrae is the perfect example of what Niflheim stands for, he supposes. They’re a country advanced in technology, more than even Lucis.

The palace shows that.

Outside, Vacuo Terrae looks aged and old. Perhaps not as old as the buildings in Tenebrae do, but definitely not sleek and shiny like the skyscrapers in Insomnia. Vacuo Terrae is made of enormous stones and concrete. Stuff of the sort. But inside, it’s a shiny world of tech. New.

The walls are stainless steel. Clean and, dare he even think it, immaculate. The floor is all glossy granite. There are decent sized touchscreen tablets inserted into the walls, next to thick doors of silver and steel. When turned on, the tablets allow codes to be tapped in and if tapped in correctly, the doors open.

Technically that’s what will get the door to his room to open too. But Prompto’s sort of disabled it; it’s easier and faster. 

Prompto tilts his head when he hears footsteps echo, someone coming his direction down the hall. He presses his thin lips together and begins to head towards the very end of the hallway, towards the massive doors that lead to the courtyard.

He presses his hand against the tablet’s screen and waits for the glass doors to slide open, stepping out and observing the gardeners working on the greenery and guards standing in their usual positions, their white uniforms clean and free of wrinkles.

Prompto bites at the inside of his cheek. Considers something and, before he can change his mind and run away, asks, “Where’s the High Commander?”

They look towards him, as if noticing his presence until that moment as he speaks. Prompto isn’t surprised; he’s not very noticeable and not very important. But he grows flustered as they bow, apologizing under their breaths, just loud enough for him to hear.

“In the shed, Highness,” says one of the two guards, pointing, “that’s where we sharpen our weapons, you see.”

Prompto turns in the direction and gives a nod, awkwardly looking at them again and offering them a smile that he _knows_ comes off as more of a grimace. “Thank you.”

“Your Highness,” they say in unison, bowing and returning to stand still, their eyes set on the courtyard, observing and waiting for a disturbance that won’t ever come.

Prompto walks down the carefully constructed dirt pathway that curls around the courtyard, different to the one he tends to follow on his daily morning run. He tries not to think as he walks because if he thinks, he’ll back out, he’ll grow afraid and he’ll retreat and hide in his bedroom. But he needs this.

He _wants_ this.

He closes his eyes, inhales through his button nose and exhales through his parted lips. Much to his chagrin, he arrives to the shed sooner than he’d like. It’s not really a ‘shed’, considering how large it is, but he supposes it’s called that for its purposes more than anything else.

Prompto swallows and wonders if he should knock. It’s the… It’s _polite_ , right? But he’s…. the Prince? He wrinkles his nose at the mere thought; that sounds bratty. But won’t he be looked funny if he _actually_ knocks?

He groans, fighting the urge to run his fidgety hands through his hair because that’d mess his hairdo. He settles to pushing the half-closed door open, poking his head in and exhaling when he sees the woman bent over a steel table, a lance lying on top of it.

Prompto steps inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

There are lots of weapons here. Machinery, mostly, but broadswords and daggers and guns and stuff too. Prompto looks around with wide violet-blue eyes, his heart racing and his head light. He could get _slaughtered_ here and he’s never been so aware how _mortal_ he is until right this second.

He clears his throat, “Um…Hi….” 

Aranea looks over her shoulder, blinking silver forelocks out of her pale green eyes. She looks at him for a moment, slowly straightening up to grip the edge of the table, hold her weight this way, her other hand against her hip.

“Yeah?” she asks, tilting her head.

Prompto grows flustered, feels his face grow hot like it does when it turns bright red. “I, um… I’m Prompto—“

“ _Ah_ ,” her pink-painted lips stretch to one side into a smirk, “so _you’re_ the little prince.”

Prompto feels his face grow impossibly hotter. “I… well… _yeah_ … I didn’t think—“ 

She raises an eyebrow and Prompto inwardly curses himself for stuttering. She’s intimidating and she’s not even doing anything! “W-who…” he looks down, the corner of his lips twitching. “Who told you about me?”

“The guards.”

Right.

Of course it wasn’t his father.

She sighs, shifting in her stance and tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “I guess introductions are in order, right, little prince? I’m Aranea—“

“I know who you are, Aranea Highwind,” he said, blushing harder for interrupting her. He looks up at her again, squaring his shoulders a bit because maybe he can _at least_ do that for himself. He fixes his glasses, looks at the spot in between her eyebrows because to meet her stare head on is too much. “I was looking for you… I—I have a request.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” She places her hands on her hips, tilts her head back and looks down her nose at him.

Here it is, Prompto thinks, his heartbeat hammering against his chest. Here’s the moment of truth. Prompto puckers his lips a bit to hide the way his lower lip trembles. He curls his hands into fists at his sides and thinks, for a quick second, of Noct and Luna because his friends give him strength.

“Please train me,” he blurts out, forcing himself to keep his eyes open.

Aranea stares at him and a moment of silence follows after that. Outside, there’s the snip-snipping of bushes being trimmed and shaped, the mowing of the grass and the sound of the sprinklers going off. There are birds up in the sky, chanting and singing. People outside the palace itself.

Aranea finally snorts and tilts her head back down a bit, her grin wide and amused.

“What the hell is this?” she asks, drumming her fingers against the wiry armor curling around her hips. She walks closer, circles him, her green eyes observing every little thing about him. “You’re a scrawny little prince…”

Prompto swallows hard and stands still, stares straight ahead. “I’ll train hard,” he tells her. “I-I’ll do everything you say.”

“I don’t know,” she begins, chin in between her forefinger and thumb. “I’m not much into—“

“Please!” Prompto takes a step closer. “I’ve been running for two years now a-and I’ve started to do little workouts by myself but it’s _not enough_.” His stomach’s starting to hurt from leaving his comfort zone but Prompto has to do this.

He’s stared at that picture he took of Aranea and her group the first time he saw her. The way they looked at her with respect despite being intimidated. Noct had Gladio to train him and Luna had her brother Ravus. Prompto has no one—if he doesn’t take initiative to learn something, who will?

Aranea’s looking at him again, her expression different, more unreadable. “Fine—“ 

Prompto smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

“But I will _not_ go easy on you, not even for a second.”

“I don’t want you to,” Prompto finds himself confessing.

Aranea’s lips twitch into a smirk again. She leans back, her nod slow and approving. “A good answer. You may just impress me, little prince.” She turns away from him, waving a dismissive hand. “We start tomorrow after dark. If you’re late I call it all off.”

Prompto exhales, feeling lighter than he’s felt since this idea’s began to brew.

 

-

 

Sylva Nox Fleuret’s expression is soft and worried as she sits on the edge of Luna’s bed. The sun’s light filtering in through the opened balcony doors reflects against her clear crystal crown, causing rainbows to dance against the walls.

Luna exhales softly, eyelids heavy and disappointment heavier.

“You are too hard on yourself, Lunafreya,” her mother says, soft hand on her sheets-hidden knee.

“No, mother, she is simply far too careless,” Ravus comments, sitting on a small and smooth looking couch that Luna has recently added to the simple arrangement in her chambers. Umbra and Pryna rest at his feet, yellow eyes looking up at him almost warningly.

Sylva presses her lips together and half turns to acknowledge her eldest, the crystal chains that frame her oval face chiming delicately with her movements. “Healing magic is delicate and hard to control. To be at the level Lunafreya is at her age is a _feat_ not even I managed.”

“Mother,” Luna sighs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Drink your tea,” Sylva says instead, reaching over and grabbing the teacup and saucer from the stand by the bed. It glows with her mother’s own healing magic but even with this it won’t heal Luna completely; it won’t replenish her, but it will help settle her weak stomach, help with the migraine and the way her limbs shake.

“What did you try to do?” her mother asks, watching her carefully with eyes the same color as her own.

Luna blows at the tea, bringing it to her lips and taking tiny sips.

Ravus says, with a snort, “Tried to heal a child’s broken leg.”

Sylva makes a face at Ravus that he can’t see but Luna can and she smiles at it, her tangled hair falling over her face as she dips her head down to hide her amusement. She drinks her tea, hands it back to her mother when she catches sight of the offered hand.

“Lunafreya,” Sylva begins, lifting the bed sheets up as Luna shifts down. Sylva’s expression is soft as she tucks her in, as if she’s still eight and not seventeen. Her mother reaches to move some of her hair from her ashen face. “Mending broken bones is hard. Far more difficult than ‘hard’. Even a child’s, small as their bones are. You want so much to heal the world, my love, and the time will come. When you’re _ready_.” Sylva laughs a bit, with just a hint of humor and the rest something like sarcasm. “What is the point if you’re going to off and hurt yourself into an early death?”

“I’m sorry,” Luna weakly mumbles, embarrassed.

“Never you mind, I suppose,” Sylva sighs, standing. “There are lessons to be learnt in mistakes. At least Gentiana was there with you.”

Her mother turns around and pauses at the sight of Ravus, sitting on the couch and looking smug, mismatched eyes on them. “Get up, Ravus. Your sister needs rest not your criticism. Come now, _up_.”

Lunafreya watches them leave and the moment the door shuts close, Umbra and Pryna jump onto the bed to curl around her legs protectively. She exhales again, eyes fluttering shut as she accepts her miscalculations and her shortcomings for what they are. She’ll train harder and she’ll be better— _more_ than better.

But she falls asleep remembering Ravus calling her name, his face a cross between angry and worried as he grabbed her arm and pulled her upright and Gentiana hovering protectively, commandingly as she’s carried back to the carriage.

 

-

 

On the day of his very first training session, Prompto stands over his desk, the white box holding his twin pistols opened. The box itself is beginning to grow soft at the edges, the lid no different as well as it bending from how much he pulls at it to stare at the contents it hides.

The pistols still lie as they were packaged. He’s never taken them out.

Prompto only ever touches them, runs his finger against them.

His father has not mentioned a single word about the two guns. Then again, Prompto can count the times he’s seen his father in one hand. But if he’s disappointed Prompto hasn’t gone trigger happy with the gifts, well, he hasn’t mentioned.

But he is—disappointed that is.

Prompto doesn’t need to be downright told that. Prompto is a disappointment and Verstael is disappointed. It’s a full circle. Points for the cherry on top: disgusted.

He presses his lips together, banishes the thoughts in favor of touching the cool surface of one of the guns. The white one—he has a fascination with the white one. They compliment each other; silver on white, gray on a shade close to black.

Prompto curls the chain that connects them around his finger. Curls and curls until he feels the circulation cut off his finger, until he watches it turn purple, until it hurts from the lack of blood and the chain itself biting into his skin.

Sometimes he wishes he had the guts to seek his father out, ask him what’s the point of giving him these guns. And does he know he doesn’t even know how to _shoot_? He doesn’t even know how to _aim_ except in video games.

Is this a joke? Is he _mocking_ him?

Except the guns are all too real, so beautiful and uniquely made, _customized_ for it to be made to waste. To be used as a prop to make Prompto feel as inadequate as he already does. 

And that’s another problem—they’re _custom made_. For _him_.

It’s… it makes him want to feel _wanted_ and Prompto doesn’t want to feel that because he knows he isn’t.

He sighs, long and hard. He pulls away from the guns and the mixed feelings they bring up to the surface. He knows nothing’s ever going to be resolved if he doesn’t try to fix it himself but it’s also just… _better_ this way. Because anything else is _worse_.

He looks out the windows at the violet-blue sky, the stars that twinkle brightly. A bubble of excitement and anticipation starts at the pit of his stomach, where anxiety usually starts. Aranea’s going to be waiting for him down in the training hall.

Prompto sucks in air one last time and leaves his room.

 

-

 

Something very interesting comes to the attention of Noct’s friends.

It’s late at night and Ignis and Gladio have stayed over at the Citadel where they each happen to have a room for these occasion. But they’re preteens and teens respectively and, much to Ignis’ dismay, sleep is for the weak so they’ve been in Noctis’ room since early evening, playing video games and the sort.

Now, though, Noctis has led them to the kitchen, his gray-blue eyes on Ignis and his lips in a perfect pout as he all but begs to be fed. And not just a _snack_ , he wants a _meal_ , he wants _lots_ of it. He’s _hungry_ , Ignis, _jeez_.

“Noctis,” Ignis tries to stress, his hair messy and his clothes rumpled. “It’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Yeah but I’m hungry,” Noct says again, turning to Gladio. “Tell him I’m hungry, Big Guy. You can’t expect me to wake up for morning workouts on an empty stomach.”

Gladio turns to Ignis. “I mean… He’s kinda right, Iggy…”

Ignis presses his lips together, adjusting his glasses and turning away from them. It’s something that’s been occurring more often than not; the need for Noctis to be fed more and more rather than just munching on something light between meals, or merely _waiting_.

Now, he has to _eat_ and eat and eat some more. Like he just can’t have enough. He sweats it all off during training and workouts but he eats _so much_ and Ignis can’t help but know the feeling because sometimes he feels it. He just… seems to be able to control it. At least he doesn’t want to eat at this ungodly hour.

“I suppose I’m making a sandwich for you as well, Gladio?”

“I mean…” Gladio sniffs.

Ignis rolls his green eyes. Three sandwiches, then. In the meanwhile, he should start thinking about how to talk to Noctis about the, ah, changes his body are about to go through. Or, by the Astrals, hint his realization at the King so _he_ can do this. 

“Hey, Specs?” Noct is watching him, each of his cheek held up by his palms. His hair is wild and messy and his shirt hangs more to one side than the other. He looks nothing like a prince. “Why are you smearing the spreads so hard? You’re gonna break the breads.”

“I’m sorry, Highness, would _you_ like to do the honors?”

Noctis yelps and in his attempts to keep his laugh quiet, Gladio chokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hopefully it doesn't take me another month to update" lmao what a twat amirite............ in my defense.......i got nothing, i was playing video games. 
> 
> vacuo terrae = "empty world" in honor of the storyline i'm giving prompto bc im poetic but also bc i got help from my best friend (i was stuck since friday trying to think of a name) ~~(shoves zegnautus keep deep into my pocket)~~
> 
> SPEAKING OF PROMPTO YALL DONT KNOW HOW LONG I WAS WAITING TO WRITE HIM AND ARANEA TO MEET im so happy.......... but im also loling that prompto and luna are being productive and there noct is being everything but (and starting to hit puberty lmao) 
> 
> (also writing luna being lowkey injured reminded me i forgot to incorporate noct's canon injury in this and now im kermit.jpeg)
> 
> newayz thank you guys for your comments and kudos and stuff. sometimes i forget to reply and when i remember i feel its too late and i get embarrassed. i do read them tho and i get flustered and happy yall are into this, i'm so!!!!!
> 
> here's to hoping i dont take another month, but if not, see you in july *sweats*


	6. Chapter 6

Prompto sucks in air through his parted lips. He’s greedy about it, concentrating not just on inhaling and exhaling but also on the beads of sweat that roll down the side of his face.

His stomach is sore and his upper back jolts with tenderness when he stretches and his _arms_ —they feel like _jelly_.

It’s been a week since Aranea took him under her wing. A week since she’d thrown training clothes at him and had him stand in the middle of the training platform as she took him apart with her mere gaze.

Because of his lack of any sort of training, Aranea’s got him building and toning muscles, burning the fat Prompto’d been unable to get to in the two years he’d been dieting and working on his cardio. 

She’s as hard as she’d warned him she’d be but she also talks, starts conversations that Prompto stutters to chase and keep up with. Sometimes she just _talks_ and doesn’t expect him to reply—which is a mercy, considering he’s doing sit-ups and pushups, wheezing for air and groaning at the way his muscles strain.

She’s a… weird woman. Contradictive. 

“Alright,” she calls now, tone both sharp and drawling. “Third set, kitten, let’s get moving.”

Her nicknames are embarrassing, though.

 

-

 

Lunafreya likes to meditate in one of Fenestala Manor’s lower towers. She supposes that’s one of the upsides of having a manor built over, around and _within_ a mountain. There’s so much _space_ and thus an endless amount of chambers where she can hide.

Or, well, not _hide_.

She doesn’t hide from anyone, much less her mother or Gentiana or the rest of her family’s army. Perhaps she sometimes _does_ purposefully hide from her brother Ravus. But that’s _different_.

When Luna leaves to meditate, what she does is disconnects. Escapes.

She sits at the center of the expansive and empty room. Her legs are crossed, the white loose shorts she trains with soiled with dirt and dust. She keeps her back straight and yet despite this her posture is relaxed, mind empty.

The best part is feeling the warmth right at the very center of her. She supposes it’s the next most important thing, nestled somewhere in the soft squishy parts that keep her heart and lungs and organs safe. It soothes her, even if she has no ache, it mends even if she has no tears and it promises even if she has not begged.

Lunafreya exhales softly, concentrates on that warm, intense feeling and she nurtures.

 

-

 

His left knee wobbles the most when he tries to go down for a lunge. It’s a weird thing, but Prompto works extra hard to surpass the weakness.

Aranea’s said that three sets of six is fine but Prompto follows the order the first day and adds another lunge the day after, and another the day after that. He stops at nine for a few days, if only because his weak knee gives out on him three times before he understands he has to slow down.

Now though, suddenly, he’s well into working with sets of twelve like the rest of his workout schedule. 

If she notices, as she effortlessly goes down into a lunge with him, she doesn’t say. But there’s a smirk in her unpainted lips, and a sort of approval in the quirk of her eyebrow.

 

-

 

A mischievous and rather ridiculous laugh escapes Noct as he twists and _pounces_ out of reach while using the weight of his sword as leverage. Gladio and Ignis skid into stops, twisting as so not to slam into each other as the Prince plans.

“Jeez,” Noctis calls out, voice a drawl and thick with sarcasm. “If I knew I was gonna be _ten_ steps ahead with you two in a tag-team, I wouldn’t have avoided this training for so long!”

“Hmm,” Ignis hums, adjusting his glasses and twirling one of his daggers in his hand. Both older boys watch the Prince laugh at his victory before said victory is actually _his_ ; Ignis tilts his head to one side before he effortlessly flings his dagger with precision, hitting Noct’s blade hard enough to startle the boy and get him to drop the weapon.

“What—“ 

“You were saying?” Ignis asks.

Gladio chortles as he hefts his sword up and runs straight towards him. Noctis’ gray-blue eyes are wide as he drops to a roll and practically crawls to where his sword has skidded.

“That’s _cheating_ ,” he calls, shifting to his knees and watching them come in from both left and right. “I wasn’t _ready_!”

“Hey, Iggy, I thought he said he was _ten steps ahead_ ,” Gladio snickers, swinging his sword and having a blast watching Noctis scramble for purchase, for a chance to stand back on his feet and properly fight back.

“Unsurprisingly,” Ignis says, lowering himself so he can swipe a leg out and drop Noct back to the ground. “He can’t even count.” 

Noctis sneers, lifting his sword to parry off Gladio’s swing. “At least,” he grunts, “it’s not a _pun_.”

 

-

 

Prompto messes up a month into his training. 

They’re doing their usual regimen: sit-ups and pushups, leg works and weightlifting. Beforehand, Aranea had advised to take it slow, one part of the body at a time. But that’s just not how Prompto works and working with him for a month now has gotten her to see that with her own eyes.

Prompto is _reckless_ ; there’s some sort of compulsion to it. The neat thing about the push-and-pull relationship he’s building with the High Commander is that she lets herself be pushed by his rashness until she’s pulling him back full force.

Like now, when he’s dizzy, vision spotting, head pulsing and his knees threatening to give out and drop him down.

Aranea wraps a gloved hand around his arm and pulls him flush to her side, her pale green eyes fierce as she looks down at him. “You _fool_.”

“I’m okay,” he slurs, and yet, despite this, presses the heel of his palm to his forehead as if this mere pressure would make his head stop throbbing. “S’just…”

But he trails off because if he admits he hasn’t eaten too well and has flung himself to training this way, Aranea’s going to rip him apart. But the way she tightens her hold on him shows she already knows; of course she does.

“I can’t believe this,” she groans. She drops him to the ground. It’s almost gentle, he supposes, since she almost guides him, her hold on him pushing him down and relentless until he’s firmly seated. “I should cut you off.”

He opens his mouth but she waves a hand in the air.

“We’re leaving,” she announces after a moment. “Daddy’s just going to have to deal with the little prince out in the town, on the prowl.”

Prompto manages to actually snort. That’s another thing about Aranea… she makes him act… _different_. It’s definitely different to how he is with Noct and Luna, but maybe when he sees them again, he can be as loose and uncaring and _open_ as he is in the hour-long sessions he has with her.

He thoughtfully raises a hand up to push his glasses back up his nose and bumps at the damp center of his eyebrows instead. Right… He always forgets Aranea’s gotten him to stop wearing them during training. 

“He won’t care,” he finally replies.

“Oh goody,” she replies sarcastically, leading them both out of the training hall. “A sob story.”

Prompto feels his face heat up, imagines how pronounced his freckles must look behind the flushed skin without the frames of his glasses to obscure them. “I-it’s not a sob story… Just… a fact.”

She leads him out of the palace without any sort of interference. It’s unsurprising and if Aranea has anything to comment about it, she doesn’t.

Gralea is brightening up as the sky darkens to its violet-blue, caught between dusk and twilight, with faint, scattered sunlight from the still-setting sun. The paved road is uneven under his feet as he walks and the lanterns dance, softly with the cool breeze.

Aranea takes him to a stand adorned by a long cable with little light bulbs going over its hand-made, handwritten sign. There are four stools in front of a long table and on the other side of said table is a single man, sweaty-skinned, wearing a grease-stained tank-top and a small white, triangular hat.

“I hope you don’t mind spicy food, kitten,” she says as she slides onto a stool.

Prompto’s eyes brighten and his stomach, despite himself, gurgles at the smell of grilled meat and the scent of peppers and…and something else. Something _delicious._

“Good,” she snorts. “Because I wasn’t going to get you anything else anyway.”

The silence is comfortable as they wait for the skewered meats to grill and be served for them. Prompto looks around the little stand, admiring it and wondering how he’d let it escape his attention the times he’s snuck out of Vacuo Terrae. He wishes he’d brought his camera with him.

He looks at Aranea for a second, half-grinning for the sake of just grinning. He likes being around her; she’s still intimidating and seventy percent of the time Prompto’s afraid of messing up big time in front of her. But… maybe he’s just _that_ starved of attention and company. He _likes_ being with her. Even if it’s quiet. Even if she’s lost in her own thoughts, doing her own thing and he’s here stupidly smiling at her and hoping he’s done a good job.

“What?” she asks and Prompto chokes on a yelp when he realizes she’s turned to look back at him.

“I—It’s just that I have a question.”

“Oh yeah?” She cocks an eyebrow and Prompto knows, by now, that this is an invitation to continue.

“You know for the lunges,” he begins, “I just keep wondering why I have so much trouble with my left leg. It always feels as if I’ve injured it, but I’ve never had any injuries.”

Aranea shrugs a shoulder, eyeing the first round of skewered meat set in front of them. They’re red from the seasoning, accompanied by bell peppers and onions and what looks like potatoes, possibly. “Your dominant side’s always going to make your inferior side weak and you won’t feel that gap in strength until you focus on them separately. Like when you work out. It’s normal.”

Prompto drinks this information in, nodding slowly and feeling it’s pretty straightforward.

“What’s _not_ normal,” Aranea continues, “is _starving_ yourself.” Her expression is hard, when he turns back to her and Prompto shrinks into himself. “If you’re stupidly afraid of turning big again if you eat too much, I’m telling you right now to drop that way of thinking. Not eating’s damaging your body more than you think and it sets you back on training. I’m _not_ going to tolerate it. So _eat_.” 

She points a finger down at his plate and Prompto presses his thin lips together before he exhales through his nose and picks up one of the skewers.

 

-

 

Without her crown of clear crystals over her head and crystal chains framing her face, Sylva Nox Fleuret looks like an ordinary woman. It’s a rare sight, one even Lunafreya hardly sees and the moment her mother comes to join her in her daily meditation… _well._  

She’s surprised she even manages to _catch_ her presence. Sylva’s steps are light and quiet, bare feet just about hovering over the warm pavement. Anyone else, Luna’s sure, would have missed the Queen’s entrance, would not have felt her take a seat a few feet to their left, legs crossed, back straight.

But Luna watches her every move, eyes just barely open, attention grasped by the baggy white pants, the loose top. Unbecoming, she almost thinks, if it weren’t for the fact that she wears something quite similar. It’s so _rare_ , so _weird_ seeing her mother like this and not in her elegant outfits, with her crown decorating her head, keeping her blond hair away from her face.

“You are a prodigy, Lunafreya,” her mother says. “Your talents are lost in times of peace.”

“I like peace, mother,” Luna replies. 

Sylva laughs. “I’m sure we all like peace, dearest. Yet we still breed as if we are in war, don’t you find that humorous?”

Luna tilts her head and admires the moss and vines that curl and covers the aged stones of the castle. They sit side by side, her mother a wise woman as small and thin as she despite her years.

“I don’t see it like that,” Luna finally says, cupping her palms in front of her, just below her chest. “We are not warriors and we are not preparing for anything. We are merely taking our gifts and perfecting them. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

Sylva smiles, mimicking her pose. The skin of the back of her palms is loose and it shows, like this, blue veins almost lost as the skin folds and jolts up. For a second, Lunafreya stares at this, thinks about how time falls to cover them like sheets and blankets, how even her mother can’t escape that. But then Sylva summons the same white, warm magic that Luna summons; the Queen’s is much brighter, much warmer, much more intense and Luna is caught in watching the sphere and the aura around it.

“Come now,” Sylva says. There is no effort in her voice, no strain in her tone or her expression.

Luna closes her eyes and calls the healing magic from inside her and hopes her mother’s guiding will help her.

 

-

 

Prompto returns from his training a sweaty, aching mess. 

He’s managed to get his breathing to even out and he _likes_ that he still has stairs to climb and halls to walk to get to his room. All he wants is a nice, hot shower and crawl into bed and sleep but he still has the rest of his homework to do—the _last_ thing he wants is to fall behind on that.

He enters his bedroom, already picking at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and off his chest and over his head. He uses it to wipe at the sweat still clinging to his brow and the back of neck, though it’s really not much help since the shirt is _soaked_. Prompto flings it aside and walks towards the mirror, pressing his lips together at the sight of his stringy blond hair.

He _really_ doesn’t know what to do with it anymore. He’s outgrown the way he used to brush it, when he was younger but he’s _really_ against Hortense’s suggestion of trimming it short and close to his scalp. It sounds so _gross_. So it’s awkwardly long and short in weird angles. Now, it’s sticking up crazily because of the sweat, making him look ridiculous and nothing like a prince.

Prompto looks down at his bare upper body, thin lips slanting more to one side than the other in something that’s part grimace and part something less than a smile.

There’s no sight of muscle there and Aranea’d laughed when he’d asked _when_ that’d happen. And it’s fine! He’d cracked a bashful smile at her teasing laugh! If anything, he’s glad there’s no fat. That is tummy isn’t round and bulging. That it doesn’t jiggle the way that it used to. That it doesn’t stick out over his belt, like before. It’s… _not flat_ , there’s a bit of pudginess there, some softness that he can still pinch. There are freckles everywhere and his upper arms are still quite flabby but he’s working on it and it _shows_.

And that’s what Prompto wants.

Validation of his work. 

And it’s there.

Right _there._

When he flexes, like this, the small little hills for muscles that curve upwards. Right there. They’d never been there before until now. Until Aranea. Until his decision, his dedication and his _want_.

Prompto slides his training pants down and looks at his legs; they’re far more muscly than the rest of him. He rests his hands on his hips, looks at himself. He’ll be fourteen in a few months—an _actual_ teenager, and it shows in the faint traces of blond hair starting to grow in places they weren’t at before.

But Prompto doesn’t care about that, funny as that sounds. He cares about the diminishing rolls on his sides and the fact his clothes fit him a bit to big. His body’s _different_.

There are freckles everywhere. Faded silver and pink scars to remind him of all he used to be, all that he used to carry and where he used to be and where he’s going.

And he’s okay with that, he thinks.

 

-

 

Summer arrives and from the very start the heat wave is _unbearable_.

It makes Noct sweaty—even when he isn’t doing a single thing other than just lounging around in his chambers. It wouldn’t mean a thing if it weren’t for the fact that he’s _pretty sure_ his body is malfunctioning. Or rotting.

It’d explain the gross smell.

At first he hadn’t even noticed or, at least, it hadn’t bothered him. Noctis has a one-track mind and when he wants to play video games for copious amount of hours, that’s all he’ll think about.

But then Ignis tends to wander in or Gladio or even both. They lounge around with him and they’ll last quite a while so maybe his problem isn’t _so bad_. But it’s a problem nonetheless.

When he passes a level, hauling trophies like it’s no one’s business, he tends to get super excited, shoving his arms in the air in victory, laughing and all. _That’s_ when it’s always brought to his attention.

“Ah, Noct,” Ignis always starts, carefully pushing his glasses back up his delicately wrinkled nose. “Have you… considered a shower?”

“I already did, Specs,” Noct replies, distracted.

“I see…” 

Gladio is usually less nice and much more blunt about it. “You reek. You need to go down to the kitchens, get one of the maids there to cut up a lemon for you and rub them onto your ‘pits because you _reek_. You need deodorant. Lots of it. _You reek_.”

Noct has had quite some trouble working it out but he likes to think that by the end of the second week of June, he’s managed to remember to always put deodorant on after his showers and before putting on a shirt. Extra after training and _maybe_ a bit before bed. Just in case. 

Sometimes he wonders if Prompto’s having these same problems and not for the first time he considers finding a way to communicate with his best friend. He doesn’t want to send letters because that sounds like a lot of work and it’ll be _forever_ before Prompto receives them. Like. He’ll probably be old and with like fifty-eight new problems by the time Prompto gets the letter and sends one back.

He’d call or, like, send a text message or even shoot up an email except… Well, for one, they haven’t really seen each other in quite some time and Noct didn’t really have any social media stuff the last time he was with his friends. And while he can _easily_ find out his number, living in different countries comes with things like different time zones and that sounds like a lot of work too. Memorizing and all that.

So he just. Sort of wonders and sympathizes. Just in case.

Today is especially warm and Noct wanders into his bathroom and adds more deodorant under his arms. _Just in case_.

As he retreats back into his spacious, messy room, embarrassed despite it being just him inside, he hears a firm knock on his heavy doors and he pauses for a second.

“Yeah?”

His voice cracks a bit and he wrinkles his nose.

King Regis walks in, dressed fit for the weather but still regal, as any king should. His hair, dark but graying, falls to his shoulders, stubborn shorter strands leaving the neat way he’s brushed his hair all back and instead falling over his dark green eyes as he closes the door behind him and smiles at Noct.

Noct’s own smile is a bit twitchy.

He still likes to spend time with his dad but… It doesn’t happen a lot and, honestly, sometimes he finds himself just getting _annoyed_ with him for no reason whatsoever and it leaves him a bit guilty after. Noct hates feeling like that so he kinda just avoids the king, saving their time for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“Oh,” he starts, dropping onto his bed and messily scooting up and to the middle. “It’s just you, Dad.”

“Well,” Regis chuckles. “Who else might it be? Ignis is still in his Advising lectures and Gladio has some training to do with Clarus, after all.”

“Oh.”

Regis’ smile is wry as he moves to sit on the edge of Noct’s bed, his bad knee a bit slower in bending and the brace he wears over his slacks mostly doing the work in helping the bones and joints to work properly. 

“Noctis,” begins Regis, a soft sigh escaping him and it is one that makes Noct grow a bit stiff. What’s he done _this_ time? Does he smell bad? Did someone say anything about the sheets from two mornings ago? _Man_ , this is so _embarrassing_.

But King Regis stays quiet for another moment, his eyes observing the mess lying around but saying nothing of it. Then, “My shortcoming has always been my inability to balance my duty to our country with my duty to you, Noctis. I should have come to you _weeks_ ago but I must admit it’s not until now that I have a bit of time.”

Noct’s stomach drops. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” Regis shakes his head. “Not at all.” He shifts so he’s facing Noctis, his good leg fully resting on the bed. “Noctis, you will be fourteen at the end of this summer.”

“Yup.”

“An adolescent.” Regis chuckles. “I bet it’s started already—your mother would have already sat you down, had this talk, hovered.”

Noctis doesn’t know anything about his mother save for a portrait in his father’s study. He thinks she’s pretty, but it always comes to him like an afterthought. Something like in the tone one would talk about the weather. Her hair was long and wavy—dark, like his and his dad’s. Her eyes were blue, maybe a shade lighter than his own. Her skin was the same as his and the black dress she’d worn in the portrait made her look dainty, like porcelain. She probably wasn’t. She probably was. Noct doesn’t know.

“Noctis,” Regis says, picking at something on the bed sheets. It’s something he’s doing out of being unsure, ratter than something done out of annoyance, to his son’s untidiness. Noct notices and he wonders if his father ever _really_ feels nervous. “Ignis mentioned, quite a while ago, his observation in the regard of some changes to your diet.”

“I don’t—“

Regis lifts a hand up.

“It is fine.” His father’s beard twitches as he smiles. “It’s normal. Your body is changing, Noctis.”

Noct’s expression starts to shift to one of mortification, gray-blue eyes wide as he realizes where his dad’s going with all this.

“You’ll start to grow hair in—“

“ _Dad_ ,” Noct squeaks. “Dad _please_. Please don’t _talk_ about this. We have a class for this in school. I…I know. Sorta. Girls. I get it.”

Regis blinks his green eyes and, in the second he shifts, the sunlight sneaking in through the windows catch onto his horn-like crown. “Well, yes. There is the matter of girls too… They’ll be changing and you’ll be finding yourself very aware of this, Noctis. You must remain a gentleman, not just because you’re a prince, but because it is _right_.”

Noctis feels his face heat up.

The silence that falls around them is awkward and Noct can _feel_ the sweat forming on his brow. He wants to shower again and he thinks he needs new clothes. Just because these fit him weird now and he feels uncomfortable. And his shirts smell a little bad at the sleeves. Not a little—a lot. They smell really bad.

Regis looks at him and he chuckles a bit, patting Noct’s lap. Noctis groans, sinking down into the mess of covers, sheets and pillows on his bed and hoping there won’t _ever_ have to be more talks like these again.

 

-

 

It’s just never warm in Gralea. The sun’s out and maybe it’s Niflheim’s version of intense, all bright and not a cloud in sight. But snowy mountains surround them and the cold lingers through the seasons; summer is no different.

Prompto shivers a bit as the cool breeze flirts with the dampness of his sweaty skin. He wanders the streets with Aranea, observing buildings and shops, villagers and children.

They recognize him immediately, he realizes. Especially when he doesn’t wear his glasses; when the wide, squared frames don’t obstruct his freckled face and his eyes seem more violet and lavender than blue. They look at him, doing double takes, unabashedly watching him pass by, sometimes pointing.

Sometimes, someone waves. A shy little thing accompanied by a shy little smile. Prompto feels his heart skip a beat, feels something like anxiety threaten to bubble and burst but instead he awkwardly waves back, looks at Aranea for approval— _did I do it right?_  

But Aranea just snorts, when this happens. Or she doesn’t react. It’s not that she doesn’t care—she just lets him handle it in his own way. And that’s _different_ to being abandoned the way he feels his father has gone around his upbringing. Aranea acknowledges his existence and how their surroundings react to him and vice versa but she lets him deal with it on his own terms.

Leaving Vacuo Terrae after training has become part of their routine. They always go to the same stand, eat the spicy skewers and drink water for Prompto and what he is _sure_ is some form of liquor for Aranea. She indulges him in roaming the city, taking pictures, if only because it’s a good little workout for their legs, to slowly come down from the intensity of their actual training. Also because she buys a generous cup of her drink in every stand they pass.

Now, they sit on their usual stools, half-watching their food cook.

“I’m leaving for Lucis in two days,” Prompto begins, tracing the rim of his cup of water. “Until the end of summer.”

“Is that right.” Aranea tips her head back and empties her own cup, setting it back down on the worn down table. “Why’re you telling me? Want me to cry?”

Prompto flushes and spares her a glance. “ _No_.”

Aranea laughs, shoving him at the shoulder. “Relax, shortcake. You always look like you’re two seconds away from passing out. Or crying. I can’t ever tell.”

Prompto makes a noise that can pass off as a whimper. “I feel like you forget I’m your _prince_ ,” he whispers. Then, he sucks in air and shakes his head, twitching a bit. “Man, that felt so _wrong_ to say. I feel gross.”

“Was that _sass_?” There’s a sparkle in her pale green eyes, lips stretched more to one side in a smirk. “Oooh, so it’s _not_ just in the physical that you’re growing in.”

“W-what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Aranea eyes him for a second before she clasps her gloved hands together, presses them to her chest. “Please train me,” she mocks. And it’s the exaggerated gestures she’s making that makes it hard to even get angry.

Embarrassed, though, he is. He makes a whimpering noise again.

But she sobers up when the first round of their food arrives and she grabs the edge of two sticks, setting them down on his chipped plastic plate before taking two more for herself. “Keep your routine for your time away and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah?” He licks at the meat, smiling to himself because it’s extra spicy, as he likes it.

Aranea nods, silver hair falling over her eyes. “When you come back, we can probably start _actual_ training.”

Prompto laughs a bit, setting aside his mortification and his embarrassment and pushing forward. He’s comfortable with Aranea, there’s no reason to get tongue- tied. “Why do I feel like that’s a compliment at me graduating from level one?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So we’re gonna use weapons now?” Prompto thanks the stand-owner for his refill of water. “Cool. I have something I wanna show you, then. W-when I come back.”

He feels Aranea’s eyes on him but she doesn’t push. Her nod is firm and they fall into their comfortable silence. Aranea pays and is standing up to lead them back into the streets, but Prompto grabs her forearm and grins at her, pulling his camera, the nicer model he owns.

“Let me get this shot!”

 

-

 

Lunafreya follows her mother’s orders perfectly. She arrives to the Lucian piers by sunrise three days and five hours after she’d bid her family and Tenebrae goodbye for the rest of summer. Then, she and her luggage met with her escort---in the back of her mind, to her horror, she’s just a _tad_ disappointed it’s not Nyx Ulric—a woman by the name of Crowe Altius.

Upon passing through the checkpoints and easily speeding through security upon the sight of her, Princess of Tenebrae, she makes her way up the beautiful stairs of the Citadel, through the grand doors and across the rather touristy hall. Her belongings, Crowe assures, will be brought to her usual chambers. So Luna makes her way to the King’s study, where she nods with a smile at the guards stationed on either side of the enormous dark doors. They knock for her, stating her name and all her titles while all she does is admire the golden doorframes and the designs that surround them.

And as her mother instructed, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret curtsies before King Regis Lucis Caelum, her shoulder-length hair spanning around her head at the gesture before falling back into place as she rises. 

“Your Majesty,” she greets, smiling. “It brings warmth to my heart that you are in good health. My mother sends well wishes, as does all of Tenebrae. I’m grateful that you have taken me in for these next few weeks.”

Regis smiles at her, his beard shifting as he does. He looks not a day older than the last time she saw him. Tired, sure, but having to look after an entire country must be tiring.

“My dearest Luna,” he laughs, “you’re far too proper. What has your mother been saying to you?”

Luna laughs, shaking her head. “Just that I represent Tenebrae and should act as such.”

Regis’ smile stretches into a grin. “You’re still young. And you have a good head on your shoulders.” They both hear something like a crash outside the doors, a thump, some groaning even. Regis sighs and Luna _swallows_ the laugh she wants to let out at the sight of the King rolling his eyes. “Noctis, on the other hand…”

The doors are thrown open and Noctis runs in, ignoring Gladiolus and Ignis’ attempts to tame him. 

“Luna!" 

Luna rises from her seat and grins as Noct continues to run until their bodies crash together in a hug that’s far over inappropriate behavior. His arms wrap around her and hers around him. Luna’s surprised at all he’s grown and the lack of lankiness to his frame. 

“Noctis!” She laughs. “Now how did you even _know_ I was here?”

Noct pulls away, grin mischievous. “Can’t spill my secrets, Luna.” But then the grin is gone and he turns to his dad, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Hi, dad.”

“Hi, Noctis,” Regis responds, amused.

Ignis takes this time to come forth and grab Noctis, an arm wrapped around the younger boy’s shoulders and pulling him close to him. Luna can’t help the smile that twitches at her lips, amused that Ignis still has to hover at the edges of Noct’s being, cleaning the disaster he leaves behind.

“We’re well on our way,” he says, giving a respectful nod to the king. “His Highness saw Lady Lunafreya’s belongings being hauled to her chambers and made a small detour from the training halls.”

“Yup,” Gladio agrees, placing a large hand on Noct’s shoulder, the side that isn’t completely covered by Ignis. “We’re gonna be off now. How about we walk the Princess to her room?" 

“Indeed,” Ignis nods, “she must be tired—traveling by sea is no easy business.”

During the entire exchange, Noctis kept shifting his attention from one retainer to the other, his expression of confusion. He then turns to look at her, blinking his gray-blue eyes before looking back at his father.

Luna does so as well, curtsying once more, her smile softer if somewhat more bashful than she’s used to. “If I may be excused, then, Your Majesty.”

Regis is watching his son being dragged away before he turns back to Luna, his own expression softening as he stands and giving her a bow. “It has been a joy to see you this morning, Lunafreya.”

Bidding her farewell until a late lunch, Luna makes her way to the hall and pauses to close the doors, only to notice the guards already doing so for her. Noctis, Ignis and Gladio aren’t too far from where she is so she walks to them, placing her hands on either older boy’s back and wondering _when_ did they get so _tall_.

“Noctis, I’m _amazed_ that you haven’t changed a single bit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers and he almost sounds convincing. _If_ it weren’t for the little sniff at the end and the way he turns his head to the side, to stare at gorgeous artwork and decorations he must know by memory now.

They walk the long halls of dark charcoal black and gold. The Citadel, despite Insomnia giving off the air of a brand new city, untouched by time, is old in age and it holds art worn out by the ages, barely decipherable. Yet despite this, they’re kept in thick, golden frames along the halls, depicting stories of old, ones of prophecies and kings from long, long ago.

These images are also at the front lobby of the Citadel, where civilians and businesspeople alike roam and wait for a hearing with the King. Those are copies, and Lunafreya learnt this during her very first visit.

The stories of old are merely that—stories that villagers still share, like legends and myths, to calm rambunctious children and to start debates. This Luna also learnt during her travels around the countries her own is in Alliance with.

“Here we are,” Ignis says and pushes the doors open along with her aimless thoughts. He turns to her with a bow and Luna places a hand to his shoulders, guides him back up.

“Not with me,” she reminds him, smiling.

Ignis looks embarrassed for a second, his cheeks a blotchy pink and his green eyes wide behind the glasses he quickly tries to fix on his face. “Right…”

“I’ll freshen up,” she tells them, shifting so the three are still in the halls and she at the entryway. “And see you all for lunch?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gladio says, his grin wide and as confident as he’s always been. “Welcome back, Luna.”

Ignis opens and closes his mouth before he exhales hard, exasperated, and nods in agreement.

Noct looks at her for a second, his hair a mess of dark shaggy spikes and his posture one of someone unsure of his place in his own skin. Luna grins at him and, slowly, Noct grins right back.

“Don’t be late, okay?” he says and exaggeratedly waves at her before he runs off after the other two.

The last thing Luna hears before closing her doors is something about deodorant and hygiene. Perhaps a long, torturous groan from… Noct? Luna’s just glad no one is around to hear her snort.

 

-

 

Prompto doesn’t really understand why it’s called an _engine_ , of all things. He supposes it’s because of the way they look, in which, he tips his hat at the creativity. Still, the airships are—well— _airships_ and whenever it’s called anything but that, he kind of blanches out.

It’s a dumb thing to obsess over but with not many things to do and being stuck in the air for the longest ride of his life, moving at the slowest speed ever, it’s the least he can do to pass the time away.

Prompto sighs and moves around the suite once more, dumping himself on the cushiony armchair and drumming his fingers on the arm.

It’s a _nice_ airship, despite how hideous it looks on the outside. Honestly, advanced as Niflheim is, it has no eye for artistry. Or whatever. But _inside_ —it’s like a moving, luxurious house. Or at the very least a portion of one of the finer halls of Vacuo Terrae.

Prompto’s inside his sleeping suite, stuffed with an actual bed, an armchair and desk combo and a bookshelf with books that don’t really grasp his attention in the slightest. Outside, there’s another room set up to be a dining hall, and after that, there’s the flight deck and the space for the guards assigned to look over his safe travels.

Sadly, that’s not Aranea. But she’d mentioned, offhandedly as she walked him to the airship, ruffled his hair and shoved him up the walkway, that Biggs and Wedge are her oldest and closest confidants and she’s sure they’ll take care of him.

And Prompto trusts that. At least _she_ saw him off, disguised as it was. Even Hortense came into his chambers early, before his departure, patted his cheeks and smiled while wishing him a fun and safe trip away.

He guesses his father saw their dinner together as enough of a goodbye. In which he’d drilled him with what to do and not to do, his piercing violet-blue eyes on him for once but overlooking all the _change_ Prompto’s gone through. It’s so _dumb_ and _frustrating_ that he cares so much—he really wishes he didn’t. 

Verstael only cares about looking over Gralea, the rest of the country and whatever project he has cooking up. Like his pistols; Prompto had almost _wished_ his father had brought them up. _Are you taking the pistols with you, boy_? Or something.

But, nope. Nothing.

Unsurprisingly.

Prompto groans again and stands from his seat, moving from one end of the suite to the other. He wishes Biggs would make this thing go faster.

He finally stops at the window, fingers thoughtlessly playing with the knobs and bolts holding the thick metal frame in place. Out the round glass, there’s a vast space of _blue_. Fluffed up clouds pass by, thick and so white. The airship itself sometimes flies right through them, painting Eos white for the time it takes to blink an eye. 

But down below, the lands look beautiful. The green of forests, the pale tan of deserts and the dark brown of rich soil; Prompto follows the winding roads, the moving little dots he knows are cars driving to and from.

It looks so nice up here, feeling on top of the world.

Without thinking, he pulls his camera out from the white robes draped over his nice princely clothing and waits for the perfect shot before he takes it. It’s the fancier one that he’s carrying on his person; the old polaroid one’s tucked somewhere in his luggage, where Hortense had carefully wrapped it in some of his clothes so it wouldn’t get damaged.

He thinks he’ll print this and add it to the pictures he wants to give his friends. A soft smile appears on his thin lips as he walks to the bed and lies on it. Taking pictures turned from a little weird habit he’s picked up from the urge to show Noct and Luna the world from his angle, to a hobby he really adores. He really hopes they like the pictures.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he’s awoken by Wedge’s heavy Cartanica accent over the speakers. “Y’er Highnyness, we’ve ‘rived to the port. Wit’ all due ‘spect, it’d be nice’a ya to be ready to disembark.”

There’s static and then it grows silent again.

Prompto sits up from the bed, grabbing his camera before it falls to the ground from where he’d left it on his chest. The suite looks as clean and unlived in as it’d been when he’d boarded the engine and he sighs contently as he smooths over wrinkles on the bed before running his fingers through his hair.

He should be presentable, he remembers. Once he arrives at the Citadel, he’s to meet with the King before he can wander off and see his friends. 

He stands over a full-length mirror, hung somewhere where it won’t be much trouble nor distraction. This is the first trip in which he wears his robes; for one, it’s the first trip he makes alone and, for two, he’ll be fourteen in a few months. Slowly, and subtly things are being given to him as he grows older.

Niflheim’s colors are white and red and so his robes are made of such. A long and white robe with a red collar and darker leather straps around the chest area, crisscrossing at the back. He wears leather armguards of the same color and gold decorative armor-like buckles right over his waistline. He looks like a _Prince._  

When he was younger, he’d dress just as princely, the men and women in charge of his clothing making sure he always wore the colors of their country. But it’s nothing to _this._  

He almost looks like his father.

Prompto furrows his brow and reaches to poke the surface of the mirror, head tilted and blond forelocks falling over his stinging eyes.

The aircraft shakes a bit as it locks into a terminal at the port and Prompto sighs, turning his back at his reflection with a whip of his robes.

“Welcome t’ Lucis, Your Highness,” Wedge announces and, in the background, Biggs chuckles. “Looks like y’er ride’s here too!”

Prompto leaves the suite after a last lookover. Biggs and Wedge stand right outside the cockpit, their hats off and their eyes on him. Wedge says with a messy half-bow, “We were instructed to deliver you in one piece, Highness!”

“I’m not a _package_ ,” Prompto says and his horror is exaggerated. They grin at him, rugged and uniform messy, Prompto grins back at them, placing a closed fist to his chest, close to his heart, legs pressed together as he bows. “Thanks.”

“See that, Biggs?” Wedge shoves an elbow at his friend. “Th’ lil prince _bowed_. At _us_.”

Prompto rolls his eyes and makes his way to the opened walkway. The aircraft itself still hovers in the air and the workings of the engines blow a heavy wind that flirts with his robes and his hair. Prompto narrows his eyes and observes the terminal and port they’re at. There’s a sleek black car waiting for him, a Glaive standing right in front of it.

Prompto walks to the edge, pausing as Wedge slides his luggage down the walkway and lifting it up and to the port with a single heave and little effort. Prompto looks at him and then at Biggs from where he stands at the edge of the walkway’s upper edge.

“I’m leaving now,” he tells them, grinning. “Behave and stuff. And tell Aranea not to forget about our _quality time_.”

“Eh?” Biggs tilts his head. “Ain’t we supposed to be the ones giving you instructions?”

Prompto laughs and hops onto the port, waving at them as he grabs his luggage and begins to walk away. The Glaive meets him halfway, taking the luggage from him after a bow and leading him to their ride.

He sleeps throughout the drive, his head resting against the window and his hands inside the pockets of his robes. Insomnia’s streets lack any bump or hole and the smooth ride lulls him into a deep slumber only disrupted when they arrive, the Glaive awkwardly calling out his name and title.

“I’m not drooling, it’s sweat,” he mumbles, lifting his head up and running the back of his palm across his mouth. He looks at the Glaive, violet-blue eyes wide. “You saw nothing.”

“Not a thing,” the Glaive agrees before exiting the car and opening the backdoor for Prompto to follow.

Meeting with King Regis, surprisingly doesn’t set his anxiety off. One thing he holds dear and close is the Lucian King’s deep and smooth voice as he told stories of his past adventures, Prompto and Noct holding onto his every word before they succumbed to sleep, the King’s gentleness and warmth their undoing.

The guards stationed outside the King’s office don’t wait for him to announce his presence, rather, they knock and wait for the order of entry before pushing the heavy doors open for Prompto to walk through.

King Regis sits behind his massive and neat desk, eyeing a document with a frown of a man that wishes to be anywhere but where he is. It’s evening, a little passed dinner; Prompto doesn’t blame him. He’d call it quits and head to bed after a full belly and the dark skies being so convincing. 

Inhaling deeply, he once again presses his closed fist to his heart and gives a good, proper bow. “Your Majesty,” he greets, uneven voice shaky with what Aranea’s teased to be The Times. “On behalf of Niflheim, it pleases me to see you well.”

“My,” King Regis breathes, dropping his documents and sitting back on his cozy armchair. “Prince Prompto Besithia of Niflheim. How you’ve grown…” Regis’ green eyes observe him, the way Prompto _wishes_ his father would. “You seem to look a lot like Verstael when he was young.”

“Thank you.”

Regis shakes his head. “You’re much more charming, my boy.” He sighs and smiles at him, tired at the edges. “What can I say,” he grins and Prompto would tell him _he_ looks like _Noct_ in that moment. “Welcome home.”

Prompto swallows, hiding the impact of those words by giving another bow.

When he leaves the King to his work, Prompto roams the halls, familiarizing himself with all the dark and the gold. He finds himself outside Noct’s room and he grins, wondering if his friend is even there to begin with.

He gives a halfhearted knock.

“ _What_?”

Prompto opens the doors and lets himself in, “Noct, Noct.”

Noctis pokes his head out of the bathroom, his expression twisted to one of annoyance but it shatters upon sighting him. In its place is a wide grin and wider steel-blue eyes. Noct forgets about what he’s doing and runs out of his bathroom, never stopping until he manages to slam their bodies together.

Or, at least, that’s how their reunions usually begin.

This time, Noct stops halfway through his run; his shorts low on his hips and his shirt missing. He’s still skinny but there’s wiriness to his lean frame, muscles that promise to one day pack a wallop but never grow larger than what they are.

For his part, Noct’s eyeing him too, his joy mixed with surprise.

“Prompto,” he tests out. “Dude… where’d the rest of you go?”

Prompto grins, curling his hands into fists before lifting his arms up to flex muscles Noctis can’t see under his clothing. “Ya like? I’ve been working out!”

Noct throws his head back and laughs and Prompto takes this time to jump him, slinging an arm around his shoulder and grinning. “Hope you ain’t tryna sleep tonight, Noct, because I’m ready for day one of video game marathon!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's time for the monthly updates *jazz hands* *crowd cheers* ur so ossum... in formation so i can see if i forgot anything i wanted to say to yall:
> 
> 1\. episode prompto was SO GOOD. i cackled at the aranea/prompto tag team. i'm always so in sync with creators. i see yall at squeenix offices, yall fueling me here. i'm still playing it (for the third time) bc i havent gotten all the highlight pictures and its making me twitchy.  
> 2\. in addition to above, i'm ignoring the very specific detail of who prompto is bc i can. also. end scene with noct. who else cried.  
> 3\. left an easter egg here about canon i.e. "prophecies and kings" to show that i remember canon but _ignore_ it. no one's being sacrificed to clean the mess of gods here.  
>  4\. prompto is my love and i love him. i based a lot of his training (in this chapter) to how i work out and the various ways i've fucked up lmao  
> 5\. biggs and wedge made me happy ideky. but i just love the idea of prince prompto with his nice clothes and his lil sad face with his ppl: aranea, biggs and wedge and hortense (who, btw, i made up as a last minute thing a few chapters ago but i love that she loves him. me too hortense. me too.)  
> 6\. the older noct grows the more trolling regis will get *A*  
> 7\. back to prompto, i promise i dont plan to make him a weak lil damsel. but i set him up to have daddy issues and that affects him greatly. i also have the one character in every fandom that i tear apart and reconstruct on my own terms. prompto, apparently, is the one for ffxv.  
> 8\. PLS RELAX NOTHING'S GONNA HAPPEN. I SWEAR.  
> 9\. whispers is the promptis coming yet MAN I HOPE SO. since i had to break this chapter into 2 (read: i havent started the other part i just felt this got so fucking long) i didn't get the chance to get to the nyxluna or any sort of promptis. BUT I SWEAR NEXT CHAPTER.  
> 10\. i think... that is it... oH WAIT i have a twitter (@marsipans_) if yall wanna holla for a dolla. so YEAH. let's talk about promptis I MEAN ffxv!!! 
> 
> see yall next month (or who knows i might surprise yall and update twice this month) (i'm lying) (((((:


	7. Chapter 7

Lunafreya bumps into Nyx Ulric on the fifth morning after her arrival to Lucis.

If she’s completely honest with herself, then she’d admit that the collision is no accident. To continue her tirade of truths, she’d mention that she’d scouted him through the halls and _dreamed_ of this moment far longer than should be necessary.

But Lunafreya, despite being an ambitious and humble princess, is also a seventeen-year-old girl and to admit all that is to feel embarrassment towards herself. So she denies all claims yet to be made, if ever, and accepts the way she stumbles a bit as soon as she and Nyx collide.

She closes her eyes and waits for the unnecessary fall, the dull pain of her bottom hitting the ground. But it doesn’t happen— _of course_ it doesn’t, Lunafreya’s measured and planned this all.

Nyx wraps a gloved hand around her forearm and pulls her in his direction as a means to keep her from falling. Lunafreya just so happens to conveniently stumble forward until she’s pressed against him. 

Wide eyed, she looks up at him.

Truly, his eyes are as dark blue as she remembers in the moments she’s allowed herself to even _think_ of the Glaive. Blue and silver and perhaps a shade of violet far more different than Prompto’s.

He’s _pretty_. 

“Glaive,” she manages, remembering, despite the pause in her mind, to keep her act up. 

“Princess,” Nyx replies and pulls away, steadying her on her feet before letting go all together. “I apologize; I should have been watching where I was going.”

Lunafreya manages to smile wryly, tucking some of her hair behind her ear before letting her fingers entertain themselves with some of the small frills of her dress. “We must stop meeting like this… Ah, what is your name, again?" 

Nyx looks at her for a moment, his expression unchanging as he studies her far too openly. He bows then, his hair shifting with the movement. “Nyx Ulric, Your Highness.”

“Nyx,” she hums, clasping her hands behind her back and playfully leaning forwards to look up at him from under her lashes. “I am Lunafreya. I would prefer if you called me by my name, as I plan to regard you by yours.”

He looks at her for another moment and Luna is intrigued that she’s able to see the way he swallows, the struggle of the bump at his throat and the mere tensing of his jaw. Her attention’s quickly grasped by the tiny little markings that litter what little of his skin she can see in his Kingsglaive garb; the one over his right cheekbone, the one under his left eye, the other at the side of his neck, one at the curve of his earlobe—

“Then,” he finally says, his voice low and breaking Lunafreya out of her staring. “I apologize, Lunafreya, for the crash.”

She shakes her head and smiles, watching the way he leans back as she leans a bit more forward. “I don’t mind.”

Nyx raises an eyebrow and Luna is possibly infatuated.

“As I said,” she teases, her smile charming. “We must stop meeting like this.”

Nyx, Luna begins to notice, doesn’t show much of what he is feeling. She supposes it’s only right, considering his training, but this is quite the downside and definitely not something she’s taken into account during her careful planning of this… _flirting_. If she’d bother, she’d blame herself for holding onto that smirk he’d slyly given her the last time she saw him.

“Won’t you walk me to the dining hall, Nyx?” It’s not _really_ a question. Of course, even if it were, because of her ranking above his, he’d do it without question.

He looks at her, unabashedly studying her before he sighs, long and hard and with a roll of his eyes. Nyx folds his elbow and offers it to her, much to Luna’s complete thrill. 

But Luna is _graceful_ and she hides her excitement well behind half-lidded blue eyes and a coy smile. Arms linked at the elbow, Nyx begins to escort her, silence falling around them.

She’d try to fill it with a bit of chatter, easing him down with conversation, asking questions she’s truly curious to know the answers to. But Nyx’s arm is pressed to hers, pressed to part of her side and she can _feel_ the lean muscles hiding under his coat’s sleeve.

It’s _distracting_. So much so that the rest of her plan goes out the window and all that she can do is walk along as he leads.

And when they arrive, she feels him quickly disentangle himself from her, turning to face her if only because it’s _right_. Lunafreya blinks up at him, tucking some of her pale blond hair behind an ear, lips twitching as she attempts to smile.

“Thank you,” she manages, leaning forward again, hands clasped behind her. Her summer dress ruffles a bit at the movement.

Nyx is quiet for a moment; Luna believes he’s measuring the circumstance. Perhaps he’s quiet by nature? But then, how is it possible that he’s befriended her brother? There _must_ be a level of sarcasm to him, if he’s to deal with Ravus.

“Lady Lunafreya,” he says as he bows, taking a step back afterwards, and another after that.

Luna will not let it end like this so she follows him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm but landing it to his chest. “How do you suppose we’ll meet next time, Nyx Ulric?”

His eyes are intense as he looks into hers but if he is going to reply, she does not allow it. She spins around, letting her fingers drag and linger before she turns her back entirely to him, her attention on the guards posted outside the grand doors of the dining hall.

 

-

 

It’s _really_ hot.

Noctis sports some shorts and has opted out of wearing shoes _or_ socks but he thinks that because of the sleeves of his shirt he can’t seem to cool down. But the idea of a sleeveless-shirt is _crazy_ because he’s noticed he’s starting to grow faint, thin little hairs in the pit of his arms and it makes him feel uncomfortable.

So he just. _Suffers_.

At least right now it’s bearable, since his two best friends are with him and they’re looking through the pictures in Prompto’s neat camera. Gralea’s… _interesting_ , or at least the things Prompto takes pictures of are.

The stands are his favorite. It makes him think of the little sector of Insomnia where all the Galahd immigrants have moved into. Of course, he’s _technically_ not supposed to know about that place. But he does. And he thinks it’s _neat_ like the streets of Gralea that Prompto’s showing them. 

Insomnia’s weird and sporadic weather’s made it really sunny and warm today, another torturous little heat wave to add to the growing pile, if Noctis is asked. The sun hits down on their backs directly, almost burning the soles of his bare feet but he ignores it in favor of leaning a little over Prompto’s shoulder, looking at the camera’s little screen and staring at Prompto’s room.

It’s a lot neater than his own, but still messy. There are books and comics stacked on the ground and on a desk, jackets and vests draped over the desk-chair, the bed unmade or _made_ but _rumpled._ And there are pictures scattered around the walls, taped or hanging, kept up on a string by what looks like old-fashioned laundry clothespins.

“Wow,” Luna gasps, her smile evident in the one word. “Prompto, your room is a _mess_ but, strangely, I _love_ it.”

“Honestly,” Noctis begins, “I’m offended.”

Prompto snorts as he continues to stare into the small screen as if this is the first time he looks at his own room. “To be honest, it only looks as clean as it does because Hortense comes in to pick stuff up while I’m in class.”

“Hortense?” Luna asks, shifting to her side so she can face him.

Noctis mimics her, leaning his head on his palm, his elbow keeping it all up as it digs into the ground, the grass tickling his skin. “Who’s that?”

“A maid,” Prompto says, his freckled cheeks growing pink, his eyes down on his camera. “She’s really nice… She—she brings snacks and stuff up to my room and sometimes she sits with me until I fall asleep and—and—she’s really….she’s really nice.” 

Noctis looks at his best friend, his brow furrowed. He sounds so… sad and, he supposes, insecure. It’s a tone of voice Noctis only uses when he’s in trouble or when Ignis’ words tend to hit a little too close to home and stuff. He’s never heard Prompto use it… But then again, Noctis remembers something about Prompto that he really wishes he didn’t.

He remembers his best friend’s eyes glassy and distant as he stared but didn’t really stare at anything, he remembers speaking to him but being unheard, he remembers poking and prodding and being unfelt. He remembers the smile slowly coming back to him and one little thing said by King Verstael and it was all wiped clean off again.

Noctis swallows and slowly turns his attention to the camera and then back up to the side of Prompto’s face. “Do you got a picture of her?” 

Prompto blinks and looks at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Oh! _Noctis_ , what a _splendid_ thought! Yes, Prompto, I would love to meet her as well!” Luna leans in closer her eyes studying the blond prince just as quietly and fierce as Noctis is.

Personally, though, Noctis never considered himself to be the studying type, much less observant. Of course this is something he’s only ever admitted to himself and fights tooth and nail to prove wrong when Ignis and Gladio point it out.

“Um,” Prompto’s brow furrows and his frown makes the freckles around his mouth shift. “Let me see if I have one… I don’t…” He trails off as he presses the forward button, the camera making little beeping noises with each press. Pictures of snowy mountains and a sky that’s not too dark but not too clear and full of stars pass by the screen in whirls until he pauses and grins, freckles shifting again with the twitch of his lips. “Here!”

Noctis leans in and looks at the little screen from over Prompto’s shoulder. The picture’s nice and simple. Surprisingly, it isn’t in Prompto’s bedroom but rather in a hallway that’s sleek steel and bright lights.

At the center is Prompto, his eyes closed and his grin wide and crooked. His hair’s sticking up everywhere, blond, the color of the sun. His arm is thrown over an older woman’s shoulders, pulling her close; she’s got dark hair that’s loosely tied back, crows feet at the corner of her dark eyes and a surprised expression as she looks at the camera.

It’s a fun selfie, Noctis thinks and his smile is subconscious.

“She looks like a kind person, Prompto,” Luna says, her voice soft.

“She is,” Prompto says and it’s all he says. Maybe, Noctis thinks, it’s because of the amount of feeling that thickens his voice. He doesn’t mention it though and he pretends not to take notice. “Oh, l-look. This is Aranea. She trains me.”

Noctis looks at the screen again and the previous picture is replaced with another one. This one has Prompto flexing the way he’d done so when he’d arrived from Niflheim and made his way to Noct’s room. His arms up, bent at the elbow, hands curled into fists and showing the small swell of muscle definition. He’s grinning again in this picture, wide and crooked, an eyebrow raised so he looks devious. 

This time, the woman next to him is younger than Hortense, with silver hair pulled back in a ponytail and black bows holding the rest of said ponytail into something neat and what Noctis supposes is fashionable. Her eyes are a paler green than Ignis’ and her paler eyelashes only make her eyes look lighter. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest, posture tilted back as she smirks and looks away from Prompto.

“The pic’s blurry because Wedge took it,” Prompto explains.

“And who is Wedge?” Luna asks, her expression genuinely curious.

“Oh, Wedge is one of Aranea’s soldiers,” Prompto explains. “Him and Biggs. I mean… Oh, I guess I forgot to say that Aranea’s the High Commander of my dad’s army. Biggs and Wedge are her most trusted people. They also… ah… take care of me? I guess. I wouldn’t call it that. But Aranea’s always got them keeping an eye on me. But she pretends she doesn’t.”

Noctis doesn’t say anything but he supposes Prompto’s got his own Ignis and Gladio. He shifts around on the grass again so that he’s lying on his back, face scrunched up as the sun glares down at him a bit. This time, though, he strangely doesn’t find it annoying or uncomfortable; Noctis actually finds the warmth on his skin kind of soothing.

“Mmm,” he hums. Luna and Prompto have already moved on from the picture of Aranea and Prompto and to more scenic ones. Noctis swallows a yawn as the sun continues to warm him up. “Could crash right here.”

“Ha!” Prompto moves around next to him, their shoulders pressing against each other. “But first! It’s _picture time_!”

Noct hears Luna laugh and he manages to crack an eye open in time to watch the camera held above the three of them, aimed to take a picture. And then there’s a _snap!_ and Noctis groans.

 

-

 

The Citadel is quiet as Prompto moves with a silence he’s been working really hard to hone. He presses his back against the cool, dark walls as he moves from one hall to the other, his eyes wide to adjust to the dimness, to watch for any movement that isn’t his.

He’s still clad in his sleeping clothes, his hair a wild mess of bedhead but Prompto’s trashed all his dignity for this. If he even _had_ any dignity, he amends. He’s only thirteen, after all. 

Opening the large doors without making a noise proves to be the hardest thing he’ll probably be doing for a long time, until he reunites with Aranea and picks up on his training, maybe. But he does it, his arms straining as he pushes, both hard and fast and soft and slow.

But who is Prompto even kidding? Not even the shattering of glass is going to wake Noct up at this ungodly hour of seven-thirty in the morning.

Prompto’s an early riser and he’s already gone on his run—a seriously successful one at that, he might like to add. Seriously, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so _good_ at greeting and smiling back at people that have spared him an ounce of their attention. But there Prompto had been, grinning and even waving as awkward as he’d been.

So far, he thinks, so good. 

Now, he’s entertaining mischief.

He closes the doors behind him, presses his back against the cool surface as he inspects the darkened mess of shadows and angles that is Noctis’ room.

There’s clothes on the ground, draped and thrown over the couch, tossed on his desk, tucked into the corners of the entertainment corner where the TV and the games are and even on the nightstands on either side of Noct’s bed.

There’s more than just clothes, Prompto notes, but the thick curtains are still covering the windows and the darkness doesn’t let him see any of the stuff.

Which is how Prompto’s attention zeroes in on the curtains. He moves slowly, his eyes shifting from his goal to the sleeping lump under the covers of the bed. He hurries for a couple of steps—then stops the second Noct begins to shift, an arm sliding out from under the covers, head lifting… but then he drops back down, arm disappearing again.

He’s merely shift position.

He’s _totally_ unaware of Prompto’s presence in the room. This makes Prompto want to snicker but what’d the odds be if _that’s_ what woke Lucis’ prince up?

So he swallows the laugh and moves his way to the windows, shifting the curtains open enough to bring some light into the room but not too much so that it’d wake his best friend up.

Satisfied, Prompto turns back to Noct on the bed, his hand patting at the weight inside the pocket of his flannel pajama pants. He ignores the clear, if not somewhat dimmed and blurry, sight of the chaos around the room and makes his way to Noct.

Or as Prompto calls him: Target Number One.

Noctis shifts again, his brow furrowing and his mouth puckering up in a pout or a grimace. He inhales hard, deep, and for a second Prompto thinks he’s going to wake up before he can do anything fun but then Noct seems to settle in again, his hair wild and dark against his pillows.

Prompto comes closer, slowly sliding his camera out of his pocket, his eyes never leaving Noct’s sleeping form. The camera beeps as it’s turned on and Prompto holds his breath, eyes growing wide—but _duh_ , that’s not ever going to reach Noct’s radar during his favorite time of, well, life.

He exhales softly, slumping his shoulders and walking until he’s hovering at the side of Noct’s bed. It’s a fairly huge bed, one fit for a prince and soft as heck to boot. Prompto grabs onto the bedpost nearest the wall as he leans forward, his camera, on his other hand, angled to take a picture, finger hovering over the button.

Noct inhales and hums as he lets it all back out again.

Prompto takes a picture. 

He curses under his breath as the flash goes off—he _swears_ he’d turned it off! 

But Noct goes on undisturbed, save for that furrow in his brow and shifting around and away from where Prompto stands. Pouting, Prompto scurries around the huge bed so he can face Noct again.

His loser best friend’s got his mouth slightly open this time. He wastes no time and takes a quick snap, shifts a little one side and snaps another.

“Mmm,” Noct hums as he shifts again, facing up towards the ceiling.

Prompto presses a knee on the mattress and hovers above Noct. This is such a risky situation but to take _good_ pictures, one must risk it all! At least that’s what Wedge said when he’d wandered off and away from him, Biggs and Aranea one night out in Gralea. 

There’s a moment where Noct’s on his stomach, arms up and around his pillows, mouth hanging open and his hair messy and wild. Prompto takes at least six pictures of this pose. 

Noct hums again and digs his face into the pillows. Prompto hovers around for a second, trying to turn one way or the other to see if he can manage to sneak another shot. But then… Well…. Prompto doesn’t think he can even try to explain how it happens. 

But the thing is that one second Prompto’s expertly kneeled at the edge of Noct’s bed, hovering over his sleeping form and the next, Noct shifts around quick and without giving the chance for Prompto to move. So he gets kneed in the stomach, getting him to lose his balance and fall over Noct.

“Ugh!” Noct gasps. “Wha’s happ—“

Prompto manages to hold onto his camera and just as it’s all settling in Noct’s brain, he manages to snap a quick selfie, peace sign up, grin wobbly as he lies on top of Noctis.

“ _Prompto_!”

 

-

 

Luna likes it when it’s like this:

When it’s her and Noct and Prompto and they’re holed up in Noctis’ bedroom, sprawled in someway or another on the couch at the entertainment corner of Noct’s bed, each holding a controller and each as glued onto the screen as the other.

It doesn’t happen too much, at least, not when she partakes in the games, since it’s _summer_ and it’s nice and bright out. She really does try her best in getting the boys to go outside and enjoy the sun.

But when it _does_ seem to be one of those days, when Noctis is adamant to relent and go out to sunbathe outside, they stay like this.

It’s nice and never quiet. Noct’s always annoyed at their protagonists about one thing or another. Prompto’s always exclaiming about how great the scenery is and gets overly excited during boss fights.

But there are times when they all do their own thing. When Noctis is dragged away for princely training and Prompto goes exploring the halls and what they have to offer.

Lunafreya hangs out with her dear friend Iris.

She’s grown, as is expected. They’ve all grown; Noct’s taller and leaner, Prompto’s taller and more open, Ignis and Gladio tower over her now and Iris is no different in her share of growth. As the youngest, she still has room to grow, but her eyes are bright under her messy brown forelocks and her smile is more mischievous and soft than childish.

They sit in the grass, making flower crowns like they’ve done countless of times. It’s a weird little hobby they’ve picked up, one that they don’t indulge on unless in each other’s company. Iris agrees that there’s something relaxing in the way their fingers thread and braid the stems together.

“When I turn ten, I’ll begin _my_ training,” she explains to Luna.

“How old are you now?” Of course, Luna knows this but she likes to watch Iris, the way she thinks and looks just a bit scandalized at the realization that someone doesn’t know all facts about her.

“Nine,” Iris tells her, proud.

“My,” Luna laughs. “You’ve gotten so much older!”

“Mhmm!” Iris looks far beyond proud now; Luna doesn’t think there’s a word for this girl, it’s far too priceless though. “But so has Gladdy and Iggy and Noct… Gladdy’s _sixteen_. I don’t know how that’s important but Daddy is always reminding him about it. Iggy’s fifteen and Noct’s going to be fourteen. I want to be their age too. So I can go out with them and stuff.”

“Don’t they take you out with them now?”

Iris shakes her head. “Not really. They say I can’t because I’m little. Daddy thinks so too and forbids it. So I have to stay here. Sometimes I hang out with Crowe and _she_ hangs out with Nyx and Libertus. So I hang out with them.”

“Is that right?” Luna feels her cheeks heat up at the mere mention of Nyx. “But they are much older than you and the boys. How does that work?”

“Crowe and Nyx are nice! And Libertus is even _more_ nice! They let me hang out with them when they train! And sometimes they let me join too! We don’t do any of the cool stuff Gladdy has Noct do. We just stretch.”

Luna stays quiet for a second, braiding the last bits of her flower crown and then adjusting the blooms so they’re aligned and hide the braided stems. Her smile is slow and maybe a bit mischievous.

“Perhaps I can join in your next meeting with your friends,” she murmurs, twisting her upper body so she can place her flower crown of marigolds over Iris’ head.

She gasps, reaching up to finger the flowers before looking back at Luna with wide eyes. “We can go today! I bet they’re down in the training hall now!”

“Not today,” Luna says, smiling. “I am not dressed properly and it will take _ages_ for me to find the correct clothing for training—with _Glaives_ nonetheless!”

Iris ponders on this, looking down at her flower crown, clumsy fingers bending some of the petals. She nods after a moment, grinning again when she looks up at Lunafreya.

“That seems right,” she says. “I’m not sure if _my_ clothes have been washed yet from the last time.”

“An important detail indeed,” Luna laughs and they grow quiet as Luna begins to pick at more flowers to start a new crown.

“D’you think Noct and Prompto would wear these if we make them?” Iris asks, her eyes big and hopeful.

“Of course they will!”

“And Gladdy and Iggy too?”

“We’ll make a crown for _each_ of them,” Luna tells her and her smile turns into something like a smirk, something that perhaps Ravus would be proud of. Or Nyx. Luna concentrates on her flower combinations and tries to pretend the heat on her cheeks is from the sun.

 

-

 

Noct and Prompto are up to no good.

It seems that the older both princes grow, the more rambunctious and daring they become. It’s not to say that the Citadel nor the King is strict with the boys, in fact, they have accommodations for Niflheim’s prince and his early morning runs and Prince Noctis, of course, gets to do as he pleases so long as it’s not something that will stir gossip or goes against protocol.

Prompto doesn’t think sneaking out of the Citadel is an accommodation King Regis _or_ the Crownsguard have in mind.

But here they are, walking down the streets, pretending it’s something ordinary done by two ordinary boys. If they’re recognized, he can’t really tell. Most people are so immersed in their personal bubbles, talking into cellphones or to companions. Some walk alone but their ears are plugged with earbuds connected to their cellphones.

“Relax,” Noct is telling him and not for the first time. “I do this all the time.”

Prompto looks at him, unable to fight down the grin that’s twitching at his thin lips. They’re both about the same height when, before, Noct was at _least_ about three inches taller. There’s some kind of feeling that swells in his chest—maybe it’s pride or something. It’s a good feeling because being next to Noct shows how much he’s improved, that his work has paid off. A little part of him feels like he’s finally worthy.

It’ll go away, of course, it always does. But right then at that moment, he feels it vibrate along his veins, at the laugh lines on either side of his mouth as he grins and slings an arm around Noct.

They walk like this, purposefully swaying from one side to the other, two thirteen-year-old princes hiding in plain sight.

“So where are we goin’, buddy,” Prompto asks once they’ve wandered far enough from the Citadel.

They’re probably nearing the center… Or, okay, that is definitely not right because Prompto remembers from lessons in the past that the Citadel is at the very heart of Insomnia. Unlike Vacuo Terrae that had been constructed at what is probably called ‘downtown’ ages ago, before Prompto was even born. Before his _dad_ had been born, even.

“Not the arcade,” Noct tells him and there’s some regret etched in his voice. “When Specs and Gladio find out we’re missing, it’ll be the first place they check." 

Prompto _feels_ himself grow pale. “They’re gonna kill us…”

“Nah,” Noct laughs and he turns his gray-blue eyes towards him, head tilted back to look at him. “Anyway, whatever. I guess we can just walk around and stuff. I hate walking, especially since it’s so sunny but it’s more fun when I’m with you.”

Prompto’s grin is slow to return, the stretch of his lips taxing on his freckled cheeks. There’s probably a flush creeping up his neck, too. He can _feel_ it. “C-cool,” he manages. “We can do that.”

Noctis looks at him for a second longer, his smile as wide and crooked as Prompto’s. Then, they merely walk. They zig-zag through the passerby, looking over things inside shops through the windows, examining what games the arcade has to offer before Noctis quickly leads him away. 

Insomnia is an enormous city built with skyscrapers that yearn to reach the sky, windows tinted something like an onyx black to look like black gems when the sun hits them. There are smaller buildings and abandoned buildings, some which are falling apart, with the windows boarded up and the fire escapes at the side rusty and bent and broken.

There’s construction going on in some streets, pavement being smoothed out, remodeling done on some apartments, cars getting towed.

It’s the most obnoxious thing, but there Prompto is, wide-eyed and fascinated. He’s got his camera out and he’s taking pictures of a bicyclist zooming through the cars as traffic forms at a red light, he’s got pictures of a little boy being pulled by his dog so it looks like the dog is walking him instead of him walking the dog. He’s gotten pictures of buildings glittering as the sun reaches its peak and stakes claim over the skies and he’s got pictures of billboard ads that range from cup noodle ads to ones about the Crownsguard itself. 

“We should watch this,” he offers when he stops to take a picture of a movie poster. “I’m still here when it comes out." 

Noctis peers over Prompto’s shoulder and hums thoughtfully. “Looks scary. Ya up for that?”

“Pfft,” Prompto scoffs. “You take me for a crybaby?”

“Yup.” Noct laughs as Prompto spins around to face him with a scandalized expression. He lets Prompto shove him a bit as he begins to lead them away again and Prompto makes sure to add an elbow jab and a soft punch too. 

They continue to walk, stopping at little stands that offer up flavored shaved ice and splitting the money for two and a water bottle they can share.

They’re near a park because this is the greenest he’s seen Insomnia be, not counting the Citadel’s courtyards. Prompto grins at the people scattered around, walking or sitting around to sunbathe.

“We’re getting closer to the Bridge,” Noctis explains. “Pretty different when you see it yourself instead of being dragged around by the grownups, right?”

“Definitely,” Prompto agrees, giving the city a good, long once over. 

Prompto’s visits to Lucis are frequent, less so now than when he was younger because he’s a prince and he’s growing into a teenager and his lessons are stacking up. But he visits frequently nonetheless and rarely does he get the chance to venture out into the crown city like this.

Their walk has somehow turned into a hike as they move further out to the city limits, the bridge’s pillars and wires appearing at the distance the more they walk. And when they get there, they both pause halfway up the hill, grass picking at tickling at their ankles and calves.

The bridge stretches for miles; it’s busy now as Prompto assumes it to always be. The cars glimmer as they zoom by, like pebbles or jewels moving at lightning speed. Under the bridge is a massive lake that, from where they stand, looks as if to exist forever, its surface shifting with something like a breeze, little waves lifting and falling back into place.

“Wow,” Prompto whispers, taking it all in, eyes trained on the other side of the lake, the scarce buildings and the enormous cranes to unload ships that come in with import goods. “This is a bay, huh? _Not_ a lake?”

“Yeah,” Noct replies, crouching down at the top of the hill, fingers curling around blades of grass. “Cargo ships from Altissia come through here and stuff.”

Prompto drops down into a full seat, legs bent at the knees. There’s a breeze here, despite it still being so darn warm. It’s the breeze that lives wherever large bodies of water exist; Prompto can taste the salt in the air. Or he thinks he does.

Noctis sits next to him and for a while they stay there, side by side on a little mound of a hill at the side of the great Lucian Bridge. He wonders if they’re out searching for them already and how long do they have before they’re found. Then, he considers the idea of Noct running off from the Citadel on his own on a regular basis. 

His best friend looks the type, he thinks. All mischievous and easily bored. Noct’s always been a handful, underneath the quiet layer he covers himself with.

“Hey,” Noct starts and there’s excitement in his voice, enough to get it to crack and squeak. “There’s a trail here! Probably leads down to the edge of the bay…” And then he gasps, eyes wide as he turns to look at Prompto, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I bet I can _fish_ down there!”

But then before Prompto can even bother to reply, there’s grass crunching behind them and approaching quick. They both give each other a look before turning to look over their shoulders, watching as Gladio approaches with the intentions to tackle, Ignis behind him looking far more composed.

“ _There_ you are, you little shits!”

Noctis manages to roll out of the way just as Gladio lands over them and Prompto? Well, his reflexes aren’t as great and he’s not that lucky.

 

-

 

The thought of Nyx training is fresh in Lunafreya’s mind, but this is _not_ the reason as to why she walks in on him inside a training room. It is completely accidental and Luna is perhaps a little mortified as she pauses near the platform, wide eyed, as she eyes him and his kukri blades.

“O-oh,” she squeaks and she cannot believe the loss of her composure. “I’m very sorry…”

Nyx straightens from his stance, his arms veiny and his grip on his blades loosening. “Lady Lunafreya.”

Luna shakes her head and hesitates in taking a step forward. “Just Luna is quite alright.” She tucks in strands of pale blond hair behind her ear. “I suppose I mistook the echoes of training to be in the room across from this one. You would think I’d be good at deciphering echoes considering how old and large Fenestala Manor is.”

“It’s fine,” Nyx replies and his lips twitch into something like a smirk. “I can leave, if you’d like—“

“Oh no,” Luna shakes her head and takes that step forward, hands clasped behind her back. “No, that would be completely unfair. What I think… Why don’t we spar?" 

Nyx snorts, banishing his blades and placing his hands on his hips. “Pardon me, Luna, but that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“And why is that?” Luna furrows her brow and nears him. “I spar with my mother’s soldiers all the time in Tenebrae—and they do _not_ go easy on me.”

Nyx raises an eyebrow and Lunafreya fights the urge to just _melt_. How can someone be so _beautiful_ , she wonders, tilting her chin up in the air in something like defiance.

“I don’t think this to be a good idea—“

Lunafreya summons her Trident, shifting in her stance so one leg is stretched behind her while the other is bent at the knee, in front of her. She holds her trident in one hand, poised to send launching in the air, like a lance. “I suggest you summon your weapons, Nyx Ulric.”

Nyx looks at her for a second, just a mere second, before his kukri blades reappear in each of his hands, pale blue lights cracking like sylleblossom petals around his hands. Glaives are linked to the magic the King has, or rather, Luna supposes, they are able to use the King’s ether to store their weapons for easy summoning.

It is such an amazing thing, one that links the Lucian army to their monarch almost personally.

“Luna—“

“If _I_ win,” she begins, her lips in a smile and her heart stuttering in her chest. “I get a personal tour of Insomnia’s very own little Galahad.”

Nyx looks stunned for a moment before his brow furrows and he eases his stance again. “I don’t think it to be wise for a foreign Princess to wander—“ 

“A technicality,” she interrupts. “One that can easily be fixed. So how about it, Nyx Ulric?”

But before Nyx can actually think about it, Luna launches her Trident, beginning the sparring session and forcefully having him agree to her terms. If she loses, well… Lunafreya doesn’t plan to let him get away so easily; losing is out of the question.

As expected, Nyx avoids being speared with Luna’s Trident. He’s quick and efficient, dodging all her blows and refusing to land any of his own. It almost _annoys_ her. She narrows her eyes and drops to the ground, swiping a leg out and having him lose his footing.

“I suggest you fight back,” she tells him, flipping her Trident over so the side with the spear is pointed right at him. Luna tilts her head back and looks down at him from her nose before she strikes at him once again.

Perhaps Nyx sees her full intentions of an actual battle, fair and square, or perhaps she drives him into a wall, enough to have him actually fight back. And he does so with such languid movements.

He blocks her strikes with his blades and fights back against her physical assaults with some of his own.

When she stands over him, a leg on either side of his body, her Trident aimed right at his throat, she is honestly alarmed in how it happens and perhaps he’s allowed her the win. It could be, she thinks, or it could be complete luck.

Her heart, despite her heavy breathing from a good workout, beats rapidly at what granting her the win could mean on his end. She doesn’t think there’s any losing here, either way.

Nyx is breathing hard as he lies under her, his elbows lifting his upper body up from the ground. He looks at her with his dark, intense blue eyes and Lunafreya smiles, never moving her weapon from position.

“I’ll get ready for my tour,” she teases. 

His smirk is light and faint, but Lunafreya isn’t expecting to see it and as she does, she feels the flush creep and spread across her cheekbones.

 

-

 

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much to convince Prompto to sneak out of the Citadel again.

It’s not like they got in trouble after the last time. Ignis and Gladio were annoyed and his father did that sigh that speaks volumes of his exasperation with his rambunctious son but other than that and Clarus’ short reprimand, nothing out of the ordinary. 

But Noctis is a teenager now, or he will be in some weeks, and he’s pretty sure it kind of grows into the brain when at the right age, to be rebellious and never listen.

They’re walking down the streets again, him and Prompto. They don’t wander around like last time because, this time, they have a specific destination. They’re dressed in t-shirts and jeans, blending in with the civilians and looking like ordinary school kids out to waste time on another day of summer break.

Noctis isn’t foolish though and he catches a few people doing a double take in his direction, some pointing, some whispering. He ignores them, of course, slinging an arm around Prompto’s shoulders and steering him along.

It isn’t long before Lucinia Sound comes into view, the Bridge as busy as it always is. Noct isn’t one for talking, much less speaking his thoughts or feelings. It’s something that’s happened along the way of growing up, where he’s stopped being a little boy and an open book. He’s never really put much thought in it until this very moment, where he hesitates in telling Prompto of how much he likes Lucinia Sound; the bay itself and the name.

He presses his lips together, hand sliding off his best friend as they start to trek towards the small hill from earlier in the week, where they’d sat and stared at the glimmering surface of the bay.

“It’s a cool name, right?” he awkwardly asks, eyes squinted as he turns to Prompto. When his best friend looks at him questioningly, he elaborates, “Lucinia Sound." 

Prompto looks surprised for half a second, as if it’s news to him that there’s an actual name for it. Grinning, he says, “Totally.”

Noctis looks away from him and concentrates on finding the trail that he’s sure leads down to the beach. His mind is working overtime as he continuously overthinks about the question he’d asked Prompto not just because he’d _just_ decided not to, but because he’s sure he’s dumb and stupid and his best friend must surely think so too.

“Does Niflheim have anything cool like that?” he asks and then curses at himself because he’s technically supposed to know all this. Damn, falling asleep in class is starting to kick him in the butt. “I—I mean…” 

Why’s his entire stupidity coming out to light all at once? He’s supposed to be _cool_. 

“Oh yeah, man!” Prompto seems clueless about how dumb Noct really is, apparently, or he doesn’t care. Whichever, it doesn’t stop Noct from his embarrassment. “There’s Ghorovas Rift. Check it out: legend has it that one of the Hexatheon died there because the mountains lined at the side of the gorge _almost_ looks like the corpse of a woman.”

Noctis looks at him while he tries to rake his brain for a visual that’s no doubt in the text books he would use to hide himself from his teacher while he napped. “You been there?” 

“I’ve ridden the train that passes by there, yeah,” Prompto laughs. “Can’t really _stay_ there coz it’s cold as heck. Constant blizzards and stuff. I don’t really think it looks like a woman, to be honest.” 

Noct stays quiet after that, leading them both down the trail and moving both fast and slow in his excitement to get down to their destination but also trying hard not to lose his footing, slip and embarrass himself further in front of his best friend.

The Hexatheon, he thinks with mild humor. He wonders what kind of teachings they give in Niflheim because the Hexatheon’s old-fashioned and the devoted aren’t all too many anymore, save for the traditional fraction of the populace. They’re Gods of old, after all, each one split to an element. Their religion is firm in the belief that they created the world. Noct, though, isn’t a religious boy and has a hard time believing it all. 

So lost in his dumb thoughts, Noctis doesn’t notice they’ve arrived until he has to catch himself from walking right into Prompto.

“Whoa,” Prompto breathes, the smile on his thin lips easy and his violet-blue eyes clear as he looks at the soft waves that come to kiss the grassy shore.

“Pretty neat, right?” Noct asks him, crouching down to pick a stone up before tossing it into the bay, skipping for a moment or two before it sinks down.

Prompto whips out his camera and starts to take pictures, shifting his stance and twisting about. He only stops when he snaps a picture of Noct while he’s crouching down and picking up stones to play skipping rocks with over the bay.

“Hey—hey Noct. Strike a pose!” 

Noctis looks at him over his shoulder for a second before dumping the rocks back on the ground as he stands up. He turns to face Prompto fully, standing and feeling awkward before an idea hits him. He spreads his legs apart, bends his knees a bit, leaning back in his stance as he places a hand to his opposite hip, the other one coming to cover half his face.

Prompto laughs as he takes the picture, sneaking a couple of more shots even as Noctis relaxes and grins back at him.

“What the hell was that?” Prompto snickers, shifting a bit to show the picture to him.

“That’s the Ultimate Pose, man, how can you _not_ know?”

Prompto snorts again, slinging an arm around Noct’s shoulders and flipping the camera around in his hand so it’s facing them. Noct’s smile is soft and small compared to Prompto’s wide and crooked one; the sun’s hitting in their direction, sunrays sneaking into the shot.

“Wuh-ho, love the lighting!”

Noctis scoffs and playfully shoves him off. “C’mon, loser, let’s go explore before we’re found again.”

“Hey,” Prompto drawls with a playful pout. He’s trailing behind him for a second before he skips to his side. “You’re the one making time for _this_ loser.”

They both snicker, arms around each other’s shoulders and the bay’s breeze in their hair.

 

-

 

They’re _technically_ not supposed to be playing any video games.

_Technically_ , they’re in trouble for sneaking out of the Citadel again. King Regis isn’t even the one that reprimands them—it’s Clarus Amicitia, the head of the Crownsguard and King Regis’ Shield. So it’s only obvious King Regis will agree with whatever decision Clarus Amicitia gives them and, as a father, he knows where to hit them best: taking what they most love.

But only Noct’s electronics have been confiscated until further notice. No one really knows Prompto brings his own. Or, at least, they don’t know he brings his portable one and it can be very easily connected to Noct’s. One that must have slipped the minds of Gladio and Ignis.

So they’re sitting on Prompto’s bed, connected through a wire that’s plugged into both their games, and playing. Front to front, their knees touching as they sit cris-cross.

The doors opened and Luna sneaks in, closing them as softly as they’re opened. She’s dressed in dark clothing, something Prompto’s _pretty_ sure neither of them have ever seen her in. Luna’s always wearing bright colors combined with white, dresses and skirts and blouses. Now, she wears a long coat over a dark dress and a scarf over her head to cover her hair. 

Both he and Noct stop playing and stare at her.

“Uh…” Noct slowly turns to look at him and Prompto gives him a shrug.

“W-we were _just_ gonna turn these in…” Prompto shoves his portable game under the pillows and Noct, being awkward and weird fidgets and jumbles up before doing the same.

Luna blinks and looks at them, brow furrowing a bit. “What?” 

“ _Nothing_!” Noct’s voice squeaks and cracks in that way it does every now and then. Prompto’s found it funny as heck since he’s got here but he’s recently noticed his is starting to do the same and he sounds _funnier_ than Noct.

Luna gives them both a funny look before she shakes her head. “I need a favor of you two.”

“Yeah?” Noct drawls.

“I am going out—“

“With _who_?” Prompto questions, almost offended that he’s not invited.

She hesitates for another moment before she shakes her head. “It’s not important with who—but I just need you both to cover for me. I doubt I will be summoned at all, in fact, I think the King has retired to his study for the night. But…”

“Okay, okay, okay. Fine.” Noct leans forward and Prompto stares at the mischievous glint in his gray-blue eyes. “But you won’t tell we’ve got video games here.”

“Deal.”

Luna doesn’t say another word and she’s quick and quiet to leave, the same way she’d entered. They both stare at the doors, long after it’s been closed behind their older friend before Prompto turns to Noct.

“What was that about?”

Noct shrugs a shoulder. “I have _no_ idea. C’mon, let’s play.”

Prompto stares for a while longer before he shrugs too. “She’s weird.”

“Definitely.”

They resume their pose, facing each other, knees touching, heads bent down enough that their hairs mix around together.

 

-

 

Outside the Citadel, Luna swallows a squeal of terror as she sneaks around through the shadows to get to the figure waiting for her at the other block. She gasps when he places a hand on her shoulder to stop her when she’s just about to scurry on past him.

“Relax,” Nyx tells her, the hood of his jacket shadowing his features. He looks around the buzzing street, his eyes perceptive and sharp as he studies the shadows. He nudges his head to the side, “Come on.”

Luna slides her arm to link it with his as they walk, exhaling softly and letting Nyx lead her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SOBS INTO HANDS* I NEVER MEANT TO START A WAAAAR. i also didn't mean to update so late I'M A WRECK. so in formation!!!!
> 
> 1\. i started a new (second) job. so that's a thing. working 10-12 hours a day at least four days a week lmao. life is expensive  
> 2\. BELIEVE IT OR NOT I'VE CUT THE CHAPTER INTO 3 (the third hasnt been written) bc it was just never ending and i kept asking why but i got no reply wt????  
> 3\. i had to rewatch kingsglaive to remember how nyx is, something i had promised to never do (rewatching kingsglaive, not the remembering nyx part) i screamed and quickly closed the tab JUST as that traitor mofo drautos does the Thing to my one true love regis  
> 4\. NOCT AND PROMPTO ARE SO CUTE I KEPT GURGLING AT THEIR SCENES its not even all that i wanted to do??? im annoyed i didnt get to the fishing bits  
> 5\. *spirit fingers* did yall dig that lil bit abt the hexatheon bc i did. i also dig how i unintentionally made ignis an old-fashioned lil baboo bc he prays to the astrals two....chapters ago? i think it fits. i can also see him as a traditional boy that dabs. but i mean....  
> 6\. LUNA IS THE BEST IM SORRY EVERYONE GO HOME. she's so sneaky and ambitious. i swear she's not forcing herself on nyx. just mentioning bc i cant tell if i've fucked up or not. hes just playing hard to get but he does like her too. but hes like "SHES A PRINCESS. SHES RAVUS' LIL SIS".  
> 7\. uruuu i cant tell if im missing anything but like. catch me on twitter @marsipans_ !!!!!!
> 
> see yall next month!!! or probs not idk i have some Stuff to do that has a deadline and there's this enormous oneshot i'm working on bUT I'M TRYING (((((:


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